


Staccato

by DoubleDimension



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Classical Music, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Injury, Journalism, Kara is not a Danvers, Piano Competition, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Your Lie In April Appearances, musician!Kara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2019-09-06 08:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16828774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleDimension/pseuds/DoubleDimension
Summary: After a tragedy ripped the pianist from her instrument, she thought that she was done with playing music. Instead, she became a journalist, and a good one. After coming back from an international assignment, she was sent to report on the National City International Piano Competition. Once again, she was thrust back into the world she had left over a decade ago.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was partially inspired by Your Lie in April, but mostly because I’ve always wanted a more thorough music AU. This is totally unrelated to my previous story Nocturne. Also, in this story, Kara is human and Krypton is a country in somewhere in Europe.

**_Fourteen Years Ago_ **

The young pianist sat at her instrument, her fingers running over the black and white keys with a type of familiarity that could only come with hours and hours of continued practice.

Chopin’s Etude Op.10 No. 4 was an incredibly fast piece, which required immense dexterity and coordination of both hands to be able to play correctly, not just properly. One slip and the entire piece would have gone differently. And she would have lost, her prize and her temper. This was next level when compared even with the third movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.

Her wrist flicked at the correct moments, and after two and a half minutes, she stopped, the piece had finished. She lifted her arms of the keyboard, and placed them on her lap. Just within those two and a half minutes, her forehead was soaked with sweat, her palms clammy and her collar clung to her damp neck uncomfortably. It was an intense piece even for the most experienced of pianists.

She took a deep breath, and stood up from her seat. Her hands clasped in front of her, she bowed, back straight. Then, with a confident gait, she walked to the back of the stage.

It was at that moment that she let the facade fall and breathed a sigh of relief. Little did she know, a select few members of the audience had already predicted that.

* * *

**_Present Day_ **

“Ponytail!” she heard the name her boss used for her echoing throughout the reporters’ bullpen.

The journalists stared from their desks as a young blonde woman, ran across the bullpen to a private office, where the middle aged man in charge was sitting.

He was silent for the first few moments, eyeing her carefully, as if giving her a thorough examination, “I see your stint in the Middle East went well.”

She adjusted her glasses awkwardly, “If you consider that I came back alive and unscathed, then yes,” she smiled.

Snapper Carr huffed, “Your reporting was decent. Now that you are back, I’m assigning you elsewhere.”

“So, what’s next, US-China relations in DC?”

Snapper ignored her comment, and went through through the piles on his desk, and plucking a file from it, “I saw from your résumé that you studied music.”

“Yes, it was my minor, alongside my actual major.”

“Which school?”

“Metropolis University,” she replied, shoving her hands into her pockets.

She never really talked about her musical past, especially her past as a child prodigy pianist. It wasn’t something that really came up, especially since the incident. At most, people would mention that she had a good voice at karaoke nights, but that was it.

She had took up business and political economy as her major instead, hoping for a career as a lawyer or politician, like her mother, or to take over the family business. But after all the changes in circumstances, she ended up studying for a masters in Journalism at Columbia, which landed her as a reporter at Catco, and her stint in the Middle East as a war correspondent.

Snapper continued examining her body language, so she asked, “What’s my assignment?”

That took him out of his trance, and he slid a plastic envelope over to her. “There’s this big music competition down in the Arts and Culture complex on Thursday.”

“It’s the National City International Piano Competition, sir,” she rambled, then suddenly remembering her manners, blushed appropriately.

“Anyway, looks like nobody wants to do anything related to classical music. Then I remembered your credentials.”

“Huh,” she breathed.

“If you studied music in college, you might as well be one of the only people that understand what those people mean.”

“Okay,” she smiled back at him, but under that mask, her stomach churned with nervousness.

“Take someone along with you, do video clips if you can.”

“Yes, Mr Carr,” she replied as she left his office.

As she arrived at her desk, she opened the packet she was given. Inside, were two press passes for her and her assistant. Enclosed, was also the programme for the event, including a list of candidates and the set pieces for the event. She’d better get those rusty gears working and study up.

* * *

That evening, Alex found her sitting at the piano in her apartment, knowing how that would end, she prepared for her outburst, and took out the bottle of whiskey, pouring out two glasses.

The blonde played the first few bars of Für Elise, and somehow a glimpse of the previous genius seemed to be back, until suddenly at the moment when her left hand had to start playing two notes at a time, she started to falter. The notes clashed with each other, as if she couldn’t move her fingers beyond a certain chord. Which was an apt description.

The pianist smashed her hands against the ivory keys, her right hand bundled up into a fist. Her eyes started to water, as she murmured, “Why, why, why me. Used to be able to do the etudes, now can’t even do the most basic.”

She slammed her hands against the keyboard again, suddenly, she felt a cool something pressed against her cheeks, contrasting with the heat of her tears. Gratefully she took the glass of scotch and took a large gulp. She needed it.

Alex wrapped up her sister in everything but blood up in a hug, “Kara, it’s not your fault. It was Zod’s men, not you.”

Tears continued to flow out of their sockets, in anger, in guilt, in regret. She downed her glass of scotch, and then refilled it.

Choking on her tears, she said, “Thanks, Alex, needed that.”

Her best friend led her back to the comfy couch and shoved a slice of pizza into her mouth, getting her to release the scotch at the same time “You need this more than the alcohol.”

* * *

Tuesday and Wednesday went by quickly, and by the time Thursday rolled around, she had already done her research on the contestants, listened to the set pieces, and dragging along one of the interns, a young woman named Nia along with her.

The two of them arrived at the The Arts and Culture Complex around half an hour earlier than what was stated. The Complex was a collection of three of steel and glass buildings by the waterfront that enveloped a large square with a fountain in the centre. One was the city’s art museum, another the planetarium/science centre, and lastly the concert hall.

It was a beautiful place, families brought their children there to play, as many young children frolicked around the fountain. There were tourists going to visit the attractions, and students on educational tours. There were also food trucks on one end. It was a view of serenity unlike the turmoil inside her mind.

The two of them took a look at the clock outside, and made a silent agreement that it was time to go inside. Kara pulled at the glove on her left hand, making sure that the hem was inside her sleeve and nothing underneath showed. She said, “Nia, come on.”

She was dressed in a business suit that suited the occasion properly. Instead, Nia seemed utterly undressed with dark jeans and a floral blouse. 

Going past the automatic doors, she saw concertgoers huddled in their groups chatting, with copies of the programme in their hands. That suddenly brought back a wave of nostalgia, and she remembered those days when she would be huddled up all decked out in formal attire, vigilantly reading her sheet music.

She explained her game plan to Nia, that they would sit through the entire thing, with her taking photos of every single contestant, and clips from each person. Then, she would interview those she that were the most promising and would advance from the prelims to the next round a few weeks later.

The two of them walked past the crowds of people and arrived in a heavy pair of double doors.

The air inside was dry and cold, it seemed that concert halls all over the world were the same, air conditioner on make sure that the air inside suited the instrument perfectly. There were the stereotypical dark red drapes, and the concert grand in the centre of the stage. There was a stand on the side with a number, signalling which contestant it was on.

It was just like she had remembered.

And the people around her seemed to think the same way.

“That woman there, she looks familiar,” heard a voice say.

“I’d recognise that pair of glasses anywhere,” another murmured, pointing to her.

“That’s Kara Zor-El isn’t it? The youngest winner of the International Tchaikovsky Competition.”

“She was eleven then, right?”

“Last I’ve heard of her was over a decade ago, she was in the Netherlands for the Liszt Competition.”

“What is she doing in America?”

“Wow, she’s all grown up.”

“More like glown up, that girl inherited good genes.”

“Is that a press pass round her neck?”

Ignoring the whispers, the two of them walked over to the press seats near the front, and sat down where they could get a good view.

After setting up the camera and microphone, Nia turned her head to Kara, who was spinning a pen with her reporter’s pad laid out.

“Are what people saying about you here true?” she asked.

“What are they saying?” Kara answered, her eyes staring straight ahead, knowing that the question was now inevitable.

“That you used to be good, really good, internationally renowned good,” Nia answered.

“Haven’t played in ages. Doubt that,” Kara tried to evade a direct answer.

“Was it because of…” Nia elbowed her left arm, like she was joking.

“Shhh,” she suddenly snapped, “it’s starting.”

And indeed, the lights turned off. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 2018 National City International Piano Competition. Please make sure that your phones are all switched off or turned to silent. No photography or recording is allowed, except for permitted members of the press. Thank you. Our first contestant is…”

And the spotlight shone on a young man in a dark suit walking up the steps to the piano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway brief history of my version of Krypton used in this story: It used to be a peaceful country with a rich culture and scientific community, until General Zod led a coup which evolved into the Kryptonian Civil War. That happened around a decade ago. Many Kryptonian refugees fled to other parts of the world during the war.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The National City International Piano Competition is in full swing, and Kara takes a guess at who gets to go to the finals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am allowed to have favourites, Kara’s preferences on the pieces here are basically my preferences. It’s pretty easy to tell which ones I like more than others.

The young man in the suit strutted over to the piano, bowing once at the audience and took his seat, adjusting it momentarily so it suited his stature. And, placing his hands on the keys of the Steinway concert grand, he started out with two low-C’s an octave apart, and after holding it for a while, quickly moved up, which arrived at a chord which he held. Repeating that, he then played a series of higher notes.

She would recognise that opening anywhere.

“What song is this?” Nia whispered in her ear.

Quietly, as to not disturb the recording in front of them, she whispered back, “This  _ composition  _ is Rachmaninoff’s Little Red Riding Hood, the more familiar will call it the Etude Tableau Op. 39 No. 6. You might want to read your copy of the programme.”

Nia blushed, thank goodness it was dark enough that nobody saw them. She reached into her bag and took out the pamphlet. Indeed, the first competitor, an Italian, was playing Rachmaninoff.

She flipped through the programme lazily, and slowly, in contrast to the speed the pianist was striking the keys with, she began to nod off, slipping into Hypnos’ realm.

“Rao, asleep already?” thought Kara, as she glanced over at Nia’s slumped form. Sighing, she continued jotting down notes onto her reporter’s pad, commenting on the Dutch contestant’s rather rushed performance. She had to give him points for that, after all Little Red Riding Hood was already considered a fast piece of music. But this was a competition, not a recital.

Despite the emotion he put in, he was going way too fast to win.

The fourth one, also playing Rachmaninoff, was from France, and from what she remembered and noticed, this was the piece with a lot of crazy jumps in the left hand. As most people were right-handed, around ninety-percent of the world population, that usually posed as a challenge, and thus increased the difficulty of the music. This one seemed to follow the score much closer than the previous one, but she wasn’t exactly too sure, as Rachmaninoff wasn’t her favourite composer and she never really paid attention to his work.

She opened her copy of the programme and skimmed through the performers, the first seven out of the fifteen were playing the same piece. It seemed that most of them chose the shortest piece to play, and she would have to endure at least fifteen more minutes of “torture”, as there were still three more renditions.

Giving a sigh, she slid down and leaned back in her seat, scribbling further stuff, comparing their performances, such as the audiences’ reactions, she couldn’t fall asleep, like Nia.

When the last of the seven people playing Rachmaninoff had finished, the speaker spoke, “We are now taking a half-hour intermission, please arrive promptly back for the second half. Thank you.”

And the lights turned on.

She stood up, stretching her legs, having being cooped up in that tiny seat. Then sitting back down, she shook Nia’s shoulder. She started stirring, groaning a little.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Kara smiled cheekily at her assistant for the day.

“Jesus, I fell asleep again,” muttered Nia.

“You sure did, anyway, it’s intermission now. I need to talk with the organizers. Might as well get a head start. We have twenty minutes”

The two women got up from their seat and walked out of the concert hall, where in the atrium where people were enjoying the refreshments, they spotted a few people dressed formally, their profiles matching the photographs of the organizers in the front of the programme booklet. They headed over to them.

There were a few more men in dark suits, they looked like event security, surrounding whom Kara recognised as some of the most prominent pianists of the modern age. Her gut was right, these were the judges and organisers. She and Nia flashed their press passes at the men, who let them through. One of them guided the two of them to their interviewees.

As the security officer approached the group, he greeted the pianists, “These are the reporters from CatCo, sirs, ma’ams.”

“Thank you, we’ll take it from here,” one of them, a man with a deep voice and a slight European accent, said. And the security officer walked back to his post.

Turning to the journalists, “Good afternoon, my name is J’onn J’onzz, one of the judges on the panel. And you are…” it was then that it dawned on him, after that tug on the back of his mind that she looked familiar, “Kara Zor El, in a concert hall. Finally! It has been too long.”

Kara choked, “Monsieur J’onn,” she breathed, her French, despite not been used in years was still perfect and unaccented, “Çe fait, quoi, dix ans, déjà.”

“Plus que ça, environ douze, ou treize ans maintenant,” J’onn replied, reaching out to hug her.

Nia was looking at the exchange with a newfound curiosity, apparently her unofficial mentor knew various languages. Although it didn’t actually surprise her, considering she had a faint, barely noticeable lilt when speaking English. Her speech seemed slightly too crisp, too careful. She just couldn’t place it. Now she had an inkling. “Kara, what’s going on?”

“J’onn J’onzz here is one of my family’s oldest friends, he helped us during one of our most difficult times,” she switched back to English, so Nia could join their conversation, “he is also one of the organizers of the event here today. Apologies, Monsieur J’onn, we’re not exactly here to chat, we’re actually here on business. We would like to interview a few select contestants of yours, the event organizers, and maybe even a few judges. Classical music does not get enough attention in mainstream media these days.”

“Indeed it does not. If you do not mind, would it be possible if I could give you the list of names to interview, once we have finished evaluating the fifteen competitors who have gone to this third round? Then you can write the article and get it published when we reveal the finalists in about a week’s time.”

“That would be awesome!” Nia exclaimed, rather loudly.

“Rao!” Kara breathed, a little startled at the volume, after she took a deep breath continuing, “That would be wonderful, Monsieur J’onn, here’s my contact details where you can call, text or email me,” she rummaged through her handbag and took out her business card, handing it to J’onn. 

“Thank you, I’ll discuss with the others and inform you as soon as possible. Now, I hope you enjoy the next round of performances,” J’onn smiled.

“Of course, anyway, it was a pleasure to see you again, we should catch up while you’re still in town,” Kara replied, then she and Nia started to walk away. The two of them headed towards the refreshments table, where the blonde picked up a bottle of water, glugging all of its contents down. Her throat instantly felt a lot more comfortable after the hydration, she sighed in relief. All that talking made her thirsty.

She fished her phone out of her bag and unlocked it, seeing a bright red dot right next to her messages, she tapped open the app. There were the usual messages from Alex reminding her of movie night, that she had to be the one paying for the food. Then, there was one from her father, reminding her that she had to RSVP on whether she was going over, or he was coming over for Thanksgiving. Lastly, there were the messages from Snapper reminding her of the assignment, not that she had forgotten, quickly she sent back a reply that indeed she had arrived and arranged a set of interviews already. 

After a brief trip to the bathroom, she and Nia found themselves sitting in the exact same spot they had vacated a few moments ago, turning on the camera once again. Almost immediately after that, the speaker’s voice welcomed them back, and introduced the next competitor, a Japanese. He sat down, and adjusted his seat, just like the many other competitors before him. Then, he placed his hands on the keyboard, playing two notes an octave apart at exactly the same time. She remembered playing this piece so many times at so many different occasions, some happy, some not. 

“What piece is this?” Nia whispered to her.

“La Campanella, the composer, Franz Liszt, based this off Paganini, both of them allegedly sold their souls to the devil to achieve the level of virtuosity to play this,” she answered back.

In her peripheral vision, she could see Nia gaping at her, but she would have to wait, for the beginning of the piece was unremarkable, once it got started though, the difficulty only went uphill, and there was no stopping.

The chords evolved into small, staccato leaps, then some slurs going up and down, and then the home run, the jackpot. The boatload of trills on the right hand using the ring finger and pinky. It seemed that the Hungarian had attracted Nia’s attention better than the Russian, and she was focused intently on the pianist’s fingers, as he moved at incredible speeds.

As soon as the last chord was played, Nia was aghast, Kara looked at her mentee’s expression of wonder with certain fondness in her eyes. It was always something to remember when you first get into classical music, much like what happened to her as a child. It often happened with a specific piece of music, or performance. She knew that she had changed many people’s lives for the better through that exact method, and it pained her that she wasn’t able to do that any more. Just using Nia’s reaction, this guy was definitely progressing to the next round.

Maybe, just looking at Nia’s expression would be enough for an article of its own,  _ How to Introduce Someone to Classical Music _ , Kara imagined the headlines jokingly. In fact, that sounded like an amazing headline for a feature article in the arts and culture supplement.

The next person came up on stage and took his seat at the large instrument. He began with the same few notes that the previous person had played, after all, it was the same piece of music. She hadn’t realised it, but somehow, her fingers moved in sync with the music. Gradually, they started to mirror the Ukrainian onstage. Even after years lacking practice, it was like riding a bicycle, and her muscle memory kicked in. She started air-pianoing, running her fingers up and down the armrests as though they were an actual keyboard. It seemed, that it just took a little push.

She continued that way, tapping her fingers enthusiastically, throughout the next three renditions of Franz Liszt’s etude. In fact, she could even pinpoint exactly where one of them slipped, and hit a wrong key. That took a chuckle out of her.

She was so caught up in the music that she forgot to jot down notes, now quickly doing so, she hadn’t realized that a new person had began playing a different composition. In fact, if it wasn’t for Nia asking her, “Is this Beethoven?” She would still be in her self-imposed trance.

It took a while to snap out of it, and to listen to a few bars to make sure, “Yes, indeed it is Beethoven, Moonlight Sonata, the third movement.”

The third movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata was characterised by furious arpeggios, left hand melodies and frighteningly fast figures. And unlike the previous two pieces, this went on for seven whole minutes and more. She had read tweets on videos of people playing this piece, and there were things like “This is insane” and “Impossible!” Some people called it overrated, she called it a classic, pun intended.

It wasn’t exactly that difficult with enough practice to increase dexterity and reflexes. Something that your professional concert pianist should possess.

Listening to their playing, and watching their hand movements, she could easily tell that this pianist from Canada was the very mechanical type. His every note felt like a machine was playing it, and despite it matching the sheet music with mathematical precision, it felt like all the emotion, the life that Beethoven had infused in the music when he composed it was sucked out. If she had to describe this man’s playing with one word, it would have been robotic.

Any decent judge, especially an old-fashioned stubborn one who stuck to the rule books would definitely put this one forward to the next round, but would definitely be outvoted by other judges who sought a more pleasant listening experience as the winner.

Then it was a Brit, she was, for a lack of a better description, a sensual player. You could tell that, much like every single contestant, she had practiced day in and day out, but whenever she was sitting in front of the keyboard, her emotions would pour through, and play a prominent role in her performance. Sometimes, her feelings would just obscure the actual composition. It was because of that that her movements alternated between flamboyant and restrained, energetic and subdued. Listening to her performance felt like a rollercoaster ride, going through peaks and troughs without a moment’s notice. It was exhausting to say the least.

She was the most grateful when the last competitor of the day, the homegrown American, started to play. He started with the easily recognisable chain of arpeggios. The chain that felt like it was going higher and higher and higher without end, which then suddenly culminated into two long notes. Riffs, as they're referred to in pop. It was then repeated.

His touch was delicate and classy, not the flashy, extravagant movement that plagued much of the classical music world. It was an epidemic that stemmed from the pop world, that had carried over to many other genres. It was like Beethoven himself was fingering the ivory keys. You could feel the melancholy, the anger, the passion coming out through the piano. That along with the fact that it followed the sheets to a tee, it was virtuosic. Not many people could do that, in fact, the last time she had heard a compliment like that, it was more than a decade ago, and that included the plethora of YouTube pianists that she listened to. She flipped through the programme. What was his name?

Michael Matthews, 25, from nearby Gateway City, studied at the Julliard, which included a period of training in Vienna. She recognised him from somewhere.

She had to interview him, she knew that his probability of winning was high. The judges would be foolish to think otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you recognised the three members of the Legion at the end. Also, FYI, some of the pianists or their playing styles are based off real pianists, such as the Japanese is based of Seong-Jin Cho, who won the International Chopin Piano Competition. Imra’s style is based off Lola Astanova, and Mike after Li Yundi, one of my favourites, and another International Chopin Piano Competition winner.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara returns to work and catches up with some friends.
> 
> WARNING: You will be hungry after reading this, I don't know why I contained so many food references.

She had arrived home, preparing to relax and just chill for the night with a good TV show or movie, when suddenly, her phone pinged. She picked it up expecting a text from Alex, Winn or any of her friends. Instead, she received an email from J'onn subject titled “Interviews”.

She sighed,  _ a journalist's job is never done _ .

Tapping open the message, she saw a list of the six who might proceed to the next round, along with their contact information. Immediately, she wrote a short reply to thank him, and began drafting letters to the others in hope that they would respond to her interview requests.

It didn't take long, and soon after that, she was back with a tub of ice cream, and turning on Netflix to see what there was to offer.

\---

It was the same room, dark except for a lone light shining on the piano in front of her. Like a reflex, she headed towards the immense instrument, and sat in front of it. Her fingers brushed over the polished cover, and she lifted it up, exposing the shiny black and white keys. Her hands hovered above the keyboard, and somehow, she noticed that her wrists had somehow become skinnier and bonier, much like how they were back before she had left Krypton.

Placing her hands down onto the ivory keys, her hands began to play, it was one of the pieces she had played many years ago, which somehow matched the feeling, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Requiem, just without the haunting choir.

It was when she had stopped playing that she felt a sharp, intense pain gravitate throughout her body from her back, “ _ Pahdh taa voiehd belahd? _ ” called a strict, commanding male voice.

She held her mouth at correcting the voice, knowing the consequences well. Instead looking around frantically, trying to find out the source of it, before she could even find it waves of fire started spreading from her left side to the rest of her body. As the pain rocked through her, struggling, she forced herself to place her hands back on the piano and continue playing.

Just  _ great _ . Just  _ wonderful _ . Just  _ exactly  _ what she wanted. Another reminder of those dreadful times.

\---

She woke up with a start, sitting up straight on the bed. She was sweaty once again, despite the strong air conditioning. She wiped the moisture off her forehead, and took a good look at her damp hand, unlike all those years ago, it was thicker and stronger looking as she had better nourishment these days. Exercising and carrying the heavy equipment back in the Middle East also helped.

Watching _ Mad Max: Fury Road _ before bed was not the best idea she had, despite how superb of a piece of cinema was. Especially for someone with her experiences.

She glanced at her clock, it was still early, so she decided to try and go back to sleep.

\---

She walked out of the elevator, despite having cleaned up well externally, it did nothing to change the feeling of dread and fatigue within her. Not giving any concern about what others thought about her, she headed over to her desk, taking out her laptop and turning it on. She busied herself with work, starting to draft up an outline for her interviews, and for the overall article.

A bit after noon, just before she headed out for lunch, she opened up her email, and there were a few unopened ones. She scanned who the senders were. They were exactly who she wanted, the six competitors progressing onwards.

She quickly sent out emails to see when they were available. Knowing exactly how intense practicing for a competition can be, she knew that she would have to adjust her schedule to fit their timetables rather than compromise.

She switched off the laptop and left it to charge at her desk. Picking up her bag, and making sure that her wallet was in it, she headed downstairs. She stepped into the elevator deciding on the nearby Vietnamese joint, and went that way. She was craving a steaming hot bowl of noodles. 

As soon as she stepped out of the building, she felt someone wrap their arms around her, and she tensed up, ready to flip them any moment with the martial arts she had learnt all those years ago. She positioned her arms at the standby position.

“Jesus! Don't, Kara,” she heard the frantic voice yelp, and she turned around to look at the person.

“Winn!” she exclaimed as she threw her arms around her oldest friend at work.

“So, where are you going?” Winn asked, eager to tag along and catch up.

“Pho place the next block over,” Kara smiled, as if on cue, her stomach growled, and she laughed at the perfect timing, “I'm hungry.”

The two of them headed over to the restaurant, where luckily they were early enough to snag seats at the counter just as the place began to fill. He scanned the menu on the wall, and smiling, asked his friend, “Want to share some spring rolls?”

“Just don't steal my half,” Kara smirked and waved a waiter over, “I'd like a serving of spring rolls, to share, and a beef pho, half raw half cooked, thanks.”

Then Winn voiced his order, Kara didn't pay attention to it as she looked over at the chefs. It was something she had always loved, the smell of fresh food, the aroma of cooking. It was one thing that she had taken for granted during her childhood in Argo, for it was everywhere on the streets, especially when she went through the open air markets.

She saw them cooking the rice noodles in water, then cooking it some more in the broth to soak in the flavour, then placing it in a bowl and topping it with meat, vegetables and broth. As the chefs laid out bowl after bowl of noodles, her mouth started to water. Not only were there noodles, she also recognised the familiar scent of charcoal grilled satay skewers, and the sizzling of various different dishes, such as prawn cakes and the spring rolls they ordered. 

If anyone knew her well, they would know that her food was her kryptonite. Her hamartia, or fatal flaw, as the Greeks would say. Although she had second doubts about that second statement.

She didn't really pay attention until someone placed a bowl in front of her, and the steam billowed at her face. Almost like a reflex, she picked up her chopsticks and began eating, not bothering to acknowledge her friend. That is, until Winn waved a hand in front of her eyes, blocking her blank stare at the food.

“Some things never change,” he murmured, “like your love of food. So, when did you come back?”

Kara counted in her mind, “Plane arrived on Sunday, went back to work the next day, that was Monday, and now it’s Friday. You do the maths.”

“You’ve been back nearly a week and you didn't tell me?” Winn was surprised, shocked even at the revelation.

“Day one I go back to work, I get a new assignment, it’s like they don't know about a  _ little  _ thing called jet lag,” Kara ranted, “I return from overseas and I'm instantly swarmed with a mountain of work, should have called in sick.” She gave an overly dramatic sigh.

“But then they would've thought that you've contracted some deadly disease abroad,” Winn blurted out.

“ _ Riiiiight _ ,” Kara muttered, “Not a good thing to make them speculate me having caught rabies or worse, Ebola.” She shuddered at the thought. If there was one thing she hated, it was the antiseptic smell of hospitals.

She continued eating her noodles just as the plate of fried spring rolls were placed between the two of them. She reached over to grab a piece, they tasted best when they were still hot, and the wrap was still crispy.

She bit through the roll, it was already hot on the outside, but even more steamy on the inside. She immediately reached for her glass of water, and gulped a mouthful, soothing her burning tongue. “Rao! That's hot, Winn, watch out.”

Apparently, her warning came a little too late as Winn also reacted the same way as her.

“I guess I was too late, huh,” Kara stated.

Winn slapped her arm, but then winced after he did it, “Jesus, did you work out in the Middle East?”

“Does running around avoiding bombs count?” she deadpanned.

“This is why I stuck to IT, no personal danger involved,” Winn blurted, “Anyway, please tell me you’ve at least got some good photos and memories to share. Beyond the news reports, that is.”

Kara looked at him like he was an idiot, “Well, duh,” and she plucked another spring roll from the plate, “I’ll send some to you later. It’ll take forever to describe each moment. Might as well let you read my diary.”

“Will you?” Winn asked, grinning devilishly.

“No, no, no, definitely no, there’s too much stuff in there that I can’t show anyone. Rao! Why would you even suggest that in the first place!” Kara felt her face heat up and she quickly busied herself with finishing her food.

Winn laughed at Kara’s flustered actions.

\---

Most people in National City had cars, she had one herself, but she didn’t trust herself with it, despite knowing perfectly how to operate and drive one, because of her condition. So, most often, she walked, or took public transit if her destination was too far away. Her car often sat in the garage unused, except when Alex took it for a joyride every once in a while.

Now, she was walking home as usual, CatCo not being too long of a walk. She took her usual route, something that hadn’t changed from before she left the country. Passing many buildings, she passed by the supermarket, deciding to actually cook instead of ordering takeout, she stepped inside to buy the ingredients needed for knorvish pork, one of her favourite dishes from her home country. She grabbed a shopping trolley and began shopping.

It was as she was deciding which variety of lettuce to buy when she overhead some people talk from the next aisle. After concentrating slightly, she found out that they were talking about her, of all things. It was surprising that she was still relevant and that some people were still fans of her, even after vanishing for more than a decade.

“Oh, have you heard? Kara Zor-El is back, I’ve heard that people have spotted her at the NC Concert Hall.”

“I’ve heard that she’s some sort of journalist, these days.”

“Really? Not that I actually pay attention to the bylines.”

“That’s the rumours, I’ll do some searching tonight, now where is the Parmesan cheese?”

Kara smiled as she dipped her head slightly to avoid the recognition, walking past the dairy aisle, and towards the butcher’s section. To be fair, she never wrote her articles using “Kara Zor-El” as a byline, so they would have to dig deep to find her if they googled that. Not that she had ever done that before.

Maybe she should do it, just for fun, for once.

\---

The door opened as soon as Kara was dishing up the food, “Are you making Kryptonian food?” Alex asked her.

“This is why I want to revoke your key,” Kara muttered as she dished up an extra portion.

The two of them sat at the table, beginning to eat. “Have you ever googled yourself before?” Kara asked, breaking the silence, when she was midway through the plate.

“Huh?” Alex breathed, digesting on what her sister was saying, “You’re asking me if I’ve googled myself before? Well, there was that craze back in high school, and let’s just say, nothing comes up relevant.”

“Have you googled me?” Kara asked.

Alex glared at her, but then it softened as she saw Kara shrink back slightly, “To read your articles, silly.”

Kara huffed as she continued eating.

“Why did you ask this anyway?” Alex voiced her confusion.

“So, today when I went grocery shopping, I overheard a conversion. About me, they know about me being a journalist and want to do some research. So much for laying low all these years,” she sighed.

“First, how big of an online presence do you have? I know you have Facebook, Instagram and Twitter, the first two are private, and you use an alias. You never actually tweet, so that’s something. You also use Kara El instead of Kara Zor-El these days.”

“Yeah, that’s the name on my passport, since anglophones don’t do patronymics, it’s now my middle name.”

“So, google Kara Zor-El, and see what shows up, then google Kara El and see what’s different,” Alex explained.

Going to her bedroom to grab her tablet, she tapped open the web browser as soon as she sat back down. 

She first typed in the name she currently went by, “Kara El”. The first link went to her profile on the CatCo website, not surprising. The next few links were to her various articles, and there were even a few thumbnails to YouTube videos which featured her reporting on various different events, such as that time in the market square in Syria, right after the bombings. She recognized herself wearing a hard hat and sunglasses, looking just downright dreadful and exhausted while being on camera for the whole world to see. She couldn’t bear to tap on the link just to see what others had to say about her in the comments.

Then, opening a new tab, she typed in the name she was born with “Kara Zor-El” and hit search. There were old videos from her performances more than a decade ago that people had posted online, then there were the radio station broadcasts that had her in the credits, or the song lists. There were many of people’s playlists which involved her renditions of different pieces. Then there was Twitter and Reddit, apparently she was still a topic in the classical music circles, as a “teaching model” for anyone who wanted to play the piano. That came as a surprise, she didn’t know that she was  _ that _ good. But thank goodness, there was nothing new about her except of the “rumours” of her in National City as a journalist.

Thank goodness, so far nobody had made the connection between her two separate identities, maybe she should dye her hair or wear contacts just to increase the differences.

She voiced her query to Alex, who waved it away, and asked her to continue eating.

When dinner was done, the two of them migrated to the couch, where Kara picked a animated movie just because she wanted to. Maybe watching a musical adventure instead of a dystopian movie would give her good dreams instead?

She hoped that it was yes. She was really in need of a night of undisrupted sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Why do I always write scenes where food is involved? I’m from Hong Kong, and if there is one thing everyone agrees is ingrained in the culture, it’s the love of food.  
> Also, for fun, knorvish pork is an actual Kryptonian dish from the comics that Kara adapted for Earth, due to ingredient differences.
> 
> Kryptonese translations:  
> Pahdh taa voiehd belahd? - Why did you choose this song?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara gets her interviews done, and meets some drastically different pianists.

She looked at the list of people she had scribbled in her notepad. Of the six, three were crossed out, Li Yixin from China, Sascha Rochev from the Ukraine, and Dietfried Scheiner from Germany. Three remained. So that day, she found herself on the bus, heading to meet her fourth interviewee, a young man from Japan called Kousei Arima, the one that played La Campanella so well that Nia didn’t fall asleep.

She got off the bus at the terminus near the waterfront, and headed towards one of the fancy hotels that sprang up across the shoreline. A bellhop in a grey uniform opened the door for her, and smiling, she nodded her thanks at him. She looked around, trying to find the restaurant she would be conducting the interview at.

Walking towards the waiter at the entrance, she said her name and was led over to a seat by the tall floor to ceiling windows, in a secluded corner of the restaurant.

“Ma’am, would you like something to drink?” asked the waiter.

“I’ll wait until the rest of the party arrives,” she replied, smiling.

She set out the equipment she needed, such as her digital recorder, a pen and a notepad.

While she was waiting, she took out her phone to respond to texts, until she heard footsteps approaching her. Turning her head, she saw two people walking towards her. A young man that looked even younger than her (it was hard to tell with Asians), and an older woman.

She stood up and greeted them, sticking out her hand to shake. The young man shook her hand without qualms, but the older woman hesitated a bit, and then shook it. That small hesitation reminded her of those moments when she first left Krypton, where she would greet everyone with a Kryptonian  _ bezhgamehd _ , instead of a handshake. It took years just to get rid of the habit, and even these days, it took a shear amount of willpower just to not to do it and blend in.

“I assume that you are Mr Kousei Arima, right?” Kara smiled, as they took their seats.

“You will be correct, Miss Kara El, is it?” he retorted.

“Yes, and firstly, may congratulate you on going forward to the finals,” Kara enquired, her interest piqued with this pianist.

“Thank you, and before I forget, this is Hiroko Seto, my piano coach and all round mentor, she’s been a mother figure to me in more ways that I can imagine,” he gestured to the older woman beside him. 

“Good day, Ms Seto,” she smiled, nodding her head, then giving a glance at her watch, she turned back to Arima and spoke, “we only have a fixed amount of time, so let us begin. When I was researching on every single contestant, including you, I remember reading that you won the Saki Competition when you were twelve, one of the most prestigious in Japan, when afterwards, you took a hiatus, and then returned a few years later with an entirely different playing style, how did that happen?”

“That’s also the reason why I didn’t choose the Beethoven, even though it was an option. After the Saki Competition, I joined another one and it was right after my mother passed. I had a panic attack on stage playing the third movement of the Moonlight Sonata. It was then that I decided to stop playing the piano, too many memories. A few years later, a really nice girl, I thought that she was quite bossy at first but she turned out to be a violinist, she dragged me in to be her accompanist. Slowly I fell in love with the piano and her at the same time.”

“Must be one hell of a girl, must be nice to finally find the love of your life,” Kara pondered.

“Yeah, she was fierce, the light in my heart,” Arima smiled at the memory of his loved one, placing a hand on his chest and gripping at his shirt.

Realising what he meant by that, Kara blanched, “I’m so sorry, I apologise for that, I didn’t realise,” she rambled her apologies.

“Calm down, it was a long time ago, she did make an impact, but I’ve long accepted that she’s left.”

Kara rushed through the rest of the rest of her questions, knowing that she couldn’t stall due to both her and her interviewee’s busy schedules.  _ Chop chop _ , her own mentor, Cat Grant, would have said if she was here.

Before long, she was closing up her interview, so standing up she smiled at the two of them, “Thank you Mr Arima and Ms Seto, it was a pleasure meeting the both of you, and before you leave, I’d like to say, Mr Arima, at the day of the competition, I was there with an intern to film it. She fell asleep at the previous performances. But at your performance, she was hooked, basically wrapped up in the entire thing. I’d like to give you my compliments on achieving that.”

“Please, you’re too kind. But if she does pick up the piano and mentions me, I’d like to know that I still have the Kousei Effect,” he replied.

Then, all of them burst out laughing.

“Break a leg, Mr Arima,” she said as they left, and she started to pack her things, before waving over a waiter to pay the bill using her company credit card.

She was thankful that CatCo reimbursed her for food and drink done during interviews, otherwise the high class restaurants that some of her guests liked would have been unobtainable.

Heading out of the restaurant, she strolled along the waterfront, where along with fancy hotels, there were cafes with open air seating, as well as people on bikes having fun. The salty ocean breeze from the western Pacific whipped through her hair, reminding her of her childhood years, carefree and innocent, where her parents would bring her to Argo City’s waterfront facing the Sea of Banzit, and much like the children here, ride bikes, fly kites, eat ice cream.

Oh, how that could change in the blink of an eye.

Sitting on a bench in the square outside the convention center, she sent an email over to her next interviewee, the American called Michael Matthews. After all, he was the one who had wanted to do it somewhere open instead of in a restaurant, cafe or office.

It was bright and sunny that day, despite being cold, and the sea breeze did nothing to help supply her with some warmth. But, she was used to it, having come from a colder climate, and survived with less clothing in it. She watched the waves lap, shimmering as the water reflected the sun’s rays.

Suddenly, it was dimmer, someone had blocked her sunlight. Someone was standing in front of her.

“Are you Miss Kara El of CatCo Worldwide Media?” asked a man.

Reacting to her name being said, Kara turned to the voice, the man had dark brown hair and a beard, his glasses glinted in the sunlight, and he held out a phone, with the email she had sent to a certain Mike Matthews on the screen. 

No wonder he looked familiar, “Mr Michael Matthews is it?”

“Yeah, and please, call me Mon-El.”

“Mon-El? That’s an interesting name,” Kara replied, scooting over on the bench a little, and patting the space next to her. He took the seat.

“It’s a family joke,” he laughed, “my dad slipped up when saying my name for the first time, and it stuck.”

“I’d pay good money to see it,” Kara kidded, “anyway, I think that we should start our interview now, we’re burning light.” She rummaged through her bag for her recorder and took it out, holding it at an angle so both of their voices could be received properly.

“Mon-El, I was there at the last round of the competition, and your performance of the third movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata stuck with me. I mean, you followed the sheets perfectly, care to elaborate on how you did it?”

“Sure,” Mon-El grinned, “let’s just say, I’ve played that thing way too many times to count, so with some extra practice, it could be an easy way forward.”

“I mean, I’ve read the sheets, and the dynamics, rhythm, tempo, you followed it to a tee, that’s an incredible feat,” Kara continued, hoping to get him to say more.

“What can I say, my parents blessed me with good genes to be a musician. And the perfect environment to nurture the talent in me,” he replied, haughtily, “So, Miss Journalist, want to head out for celebratory drinks after the interview? Celebrate me being interviewed by an international publication.” He reached his hand over to touch her face.

But before he could even do it, Kara had swatted his hand away, “Sir, I am working on a tight schedule here, may I strongly suggest we crack on.”

“I’m sure your next interviewee won’t mind, Brainy is very laid back after all.”

“I don’t know if the Mr Dox is the person you call Brainy, but I’d prefer to be able to have enough time to write this up, so I’d like to continue with the interview. Please.”

That shut him up, and she continued to ask the relevant questions. She was incredibly relieved when the interview finished. She had to admit, he was a brilliant pianist, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he won. But he was  _ such a frat boy _ , she wouldn’t be surprised if he had actually been in a fraternity.

Knowing that Mon-El had stalled, she was running towards the cafe where she would be meeting the Canadian, Querl Dox for her next interview.

She arrived at her destination just in the nick of time, and it came of no shock to her when she saw a head of dark hair at the table the waiter led her to.

“I apologise, my previous interviewee kept going off on tangents,” she breathed as soon as she sat down.

“Nothing big, I know Mon-El, a mutual friend introduced us during college.”

“Which one? I’m curious, I know he went to Juilliard, where did you go?”

“Metropolis University,” he replied.

Kara smiled, and raised her hand for a high-five, “MU! Go Purple!” she exclaimed, startling some of the other customers because of her outburst.

Querl Dox smiled and returned the gesture.

Sitting down, he poured steaming hot tea from a pot into the two cups on the table. Delicately, he added a bit of milk and one spoonful of sugar, “Ah,” he sighed, “it’s hard to find a good tea in this country these days, I hope you don’t mind, I ordered an English breakfast.”

“Of course not, I love tea. Anyways, Mr Dox, your playing style is quite robotic, mechanical if I say, how did you develop such a distinct style?”

“Music is mathematics. Music is made up of sound waves, I’m sure you’ve heard of it in high school physics. Each note has a different wavelength, held for different periods of time. When two or more notes are played at the same time, they are a different amount out of phase or in phase, a combination of sine and cosine curves, that creates assonance and dissonance, whether you hear the notes sounding pleasantly together or clashing. That has everything to do with the number 3/2, but I don’t really know the details of harmonics. Beethoven is one of the masters of this, thus why I chose his piece. The frequency on the other hand is the characteristic of the instrument, different sound frequencies make a band or orchestra. Music is just mathematics. Mathematics mixed in with emotion, and imagination,” Mr Dox explained.

Kara looked at him in awe, she had never thought about it that way. She knew both as separate concepts on their own, but had somehow never put the two and two together to make four. It was a brand new analogy that seemed to make sense, and somehow clicked as a reason why she was also good at math in school.

“Thank you, Mr Dox for your very refreshing idea,” she replied, smiling, “now, I’d like to ask you why did you pick up the piano over other instruments in the first place?”

“My parents signed me up for classes as an afterschool activity initially. But one day, I was around eleven or twelve, there was a juniors piano competition in my hometown of Toronto. Many children of all ages played, and one of them stuck with me, a brilliant rendition of Liszt's Liebestraum No. 3. I mean, if someone my age could do it, I could be better. So I dove right into it. If I didn’t forget that girl was called Kara Zor-El, from some small, insignificant European country, you remind me of her.” He pointed a finger at her.

Kara was dumbfounded, indeed she had competed in the Canadian International Youth Piano Competition when she was ten. And indeed, she had played Liszt’s Liebestraum. “Who is that?” she pretended to ask, feigning confusion.

“In fact, your name sounds so familiar, I am willing to assume that you are her!”

“Please, there’s nothing in common.”

“I’d recognise your eyes anywhere, the same bright azure, showing that you have many, many secrets. You are Kara Zor-El.”

Looking around, she ripped off her glasses and slowly, she nodded, looking straight into his eyes, she replied, “You’ve got me, but please, don’t tell anyone, keep it between the two of us, I’m trying to lay low.”

“I have developed the capacity in my brain to stop access to certain memories. You can count on me to keep a secret.”

Kara gave a sigh of relief, and after putting her glasses back on, continued asking the next few questions she had prepared, “Now, we might as well carry on.”

“Oh yes, and maybe, you’ll let a word or two slip about how you achieved your successes.” 

Kara raised her eyebrows, and deadpanned, “Just have a soldier or two armed with an AK-47 standing right outside ready to shoot you on the spot if you lose, it’s very effective.”

“I suppose it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the shorter chapter, just wanted to get the interviews out of the way for what happens next. To know more about Arima Kousei, just go watch Your Lie in April, it’s on Netflix. I hope you have enough tissues for all 22 episodes. Also, I blame Brainy’s rant on mathematics and music on that lecture I attended on exactly that subject, if you hate maths, I apologise.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara's article is published, there is a certain person she would like to visit, and Cat Grant has a task with her protege.

The article was published in that week’s issue, it was headlined  _ Millennials Still Play Classical Music _ , and had a two whole spreads all to itself. She was proud of it, so she had the CatCo courier send out copies of it to every single person she had interviewed. But, there was one particular person she thought deserved a visit from her so she could personally deliver a copy to. So, she typed in the address into her phone and after figuring out the route, headed towards it.

Arriving in front of a modern looking apartment building, she walked up to the door, and slipped in just as another person went out.

Taking the elevator all the way up to the twenty-second floor, she walked up to the correct unit. She raised her hand and rang the doorbell.

It was dead silence for a while.

When suddenly, she heard a person shout what sounded like, “I’m coming.”

Moments later, the door opened, and familiar face stared back at her, “Kara Zor-El, what are you doing here at eight a.m.?” he hissed.

“I have something for you,” she said, giving her bag a good pat to show where it was.

The door opened wider for her to enter the apartment. He led her over to the living room area and to a sofa, gesturing for her to take a seat, and he sat down beside her. She reached into her bag and pulled out the copy of the magazine, still brand new, in a plastic bag packaging like one of the subscriber issues. “I thought that you might want to have this,” she handed the book to him with both hands, presenting it to him like it was an international award. In her mind, the magazine was priceless.

“The latest issue of CatCo magazine?” he tore open the packaging, taking out the book and flipping through the pages. His eyes landed to a page where a picture of a person at a grand piano on a large stage spanned an entire page.

He began to read the story, and as soon as he was three paragraphs in, tears began to spring to his eyes. The article was informative, and realistic to say the least. It was full of insights that only someone who was really familiar with classical music competitions would have, someone who had lived the experience they were writing about. There was also the underlying emotions in the article, they were ones of returning home, and of regret and grief. Of course, one had to personally know the author, or at least know what she had gone through to feel it.

Looking up from the magazine article, J’onn J’onzz met the brilliant blue eyes of the young woman sitting in front of him. The brilliant blue eyes that held a weight heavier than what one would have expected from a person her age. “This is good, in fact this is better than I would have expected. Only the best article about a piano competition could come from one of the world’s best pianists,” he commented.

“Flattery,” she turned her head away, averting his eyes, feeling the heat rise up her cheeks.

“I mean it, you are good at this. You put your heart into your writing the same way you did with your playing. Barely there for most people, but for someone actually analysing it, it is obvious, much like the perfect piece at a music competition.”

“Thanks.”

\---

She heard her name, or rather a distorted version of it being yelled as soon as the elevator door opened. Only a handful of people in the whole building dared to raise their voice indoors, and only one of them did it in such a prominent and distinct way.

Cat Grant, the queen of all media. And possibly one of the most powerful people in the city. After all, who was more powerful than the person who controlled what people talked about on a daily basis.

“Keera!” she heard the shout again, and started running.

She skidded to a halt in front of the glass fishbowl, and after knocking, pushed the door open. “Ms Grant, you wanted to see me?”

Ms Grant turned her chair around from where she was facing the back wall. Or should it be described as a television screen mosaic. She took off her glasses and faced her equally bespectacled protege. “You’ve been back for more than a week, and yet I did not know until I saw your name in this week’s byline. You report to me, regardless of what Snapper says or thinks. You don’t work under him anymore.”

Kara pushed up her glasses, “Yes, ma’am. But I presume that’s not why I’m here.”

“Yes, Keira, and when do I have to remind you when you have to sit down again?”

“Oh, apologies,” she muttered as she pulled out a chair and sat down in front of Ms Grant.

“Here at CatCo, we pride ourselves not on reporting the newest and hottest. We create the newest and hottest, and one of that is a certain multinational corporation relocating to National City.”

Kara blinked at her CEO, “Pardon?”

“You know about the Luthor Corp scandal?” Kara shook her head, she had been away from the country for quite a while, so Ms Grant continued, “You told me you were interested in politics and business, I know you've been away too long but keep up to date, it’s your job. So Lex Luthor, then CEO had been smuggling corporate funds to create weapons of mass destruction. Enough to level all of the north-east. The financial team found something suspicious during a company audit, and after meticulous investigation involving the feds, and he was sentenced to life imprisonment with no chance of parole. Recently, a new CEO, his sister, Lena Luthor has stepped up and is relocating the business here.”

“You want me to interview her, get an exclusive?” Kara guessed.

“Ding ding ding, at least that desert heat hasn’t fried all of your brain cells. Yet,” Ms Grant pointed a finger at her.

“I hope so, Ms Grant.”

“Now start drafting, your interview’s scheduled for tomorrow at eleven.”

“Yes, Ms Grant.”

Just as she started to head out, Ms Grant called after her, “Five thirty, arrive here, I need to read your outline.”

Nodding, Kara headed out, starting to plan it out in her head.

\---

At five thirty, she found herself sitting on Ms Grant’s couch, the older woman sitting on the other couch opposite her, skimming the first draft of her interview.

“This isn’t bad, not great, but not bad. But you might want ask more varied, open-ended questions, as these all give similar answers. You want to cover more types of material so you can keep what you put in your article open.”

“Yes Ms Grant,” Kara replied.

“Don’t be like this with other people. Those short sentences are horrible during an interview. It makes you seem impersonal and that are too blunt.”

Kara nodded along to her comments, if there was one law at CatCo, it was obey everything that Cat Grant says. Well, maybe not as extreme, but her advice and ideas were usually solid.

“You may have gone to an Ivy League school, but you are still an airhead. Don’t screw up the first impression with the LuthorCorp heiress, she could be a valuable business partner.”

“I’ll try my best,” she gave a nod, heading out of the room, preparing to edit her work, and find a few more sources.

\---

That morning, she stood in front of her closet, and went through all the options she had. She was representing CatCo, meeting with a potential important business partner, and she knew dressing the part was the first step to gaining their trust. So, what went well with interviewing a Fortune 500 CEO?

Would the designer dress and blazer pairing be a little too pretentious? Would the black tailored suit seem a little too aggressive? It was at moments like this that she missed wearing uniforms, like she did all those years ago.

\---

The door to the Porsche 911 opened, and the driver swung her legs out, stepping onto the ground with her heels touching first in an elegant motion. She stood up, sunglasses glinting as she glared at the valet behind the dark lenses, handing him the keys, and without words conveyed the message of ‘not a scratch’.

Her pin straight, raven black contrasted with her pale skin and red lipstick, but perfectly complemented her black suit and red sweater, exuding aura of authority and confidence well beyond her years. Her stilettos click-clacked as she strode across the marble floors of the entrance atrium. People who saw her gave her respectful smiles and nods. She took the elevator up to the top floor where her office was.

“Good morning, Miss Luthor” her assistant said, smiling as she followed the boss to her office, opening the door for her.

She took her seat, and a steaming mug of coffee was placed on the desk, beside her computer. She set her sunglasses on the desk, revealing bright green orbs. “Jess, what have I got today?”

“There’s a meeting with the Koreans in fifteen minutes in conference room A, and another meeting with Edge Development at three in conference room E. Oh, and there’s also someone from CatCo coming to interview you at eleven in your office, Miss Luthor,” Jess listed as she looked at her tablet, “And don’t forget the renaming ceremony tomorrow, you have a speech.”

“Thank you, Jess,” Lena Luthor replied as she hung her coat on the rack and started preparing for that day’s duties.

The Koreans, thankfully, spoke English quite well, and were quite eager to continue cooperating with LuthorCorp, even with the name change. So the new documents were signed to verify their agreement, and for any legal and administration issues. Everything went smoothly and she headed back upstairs to her office, where she started to edit the speech she had ready for the next day.

That was one thing off her agenda.

\---

Her favorite mode of transport was the metro, there was no doubt about that. It was always punctual and in operation regardless the weather with no worries of congestion. So she made it to the LuthorCorp not just on-time, but with some time to spare. Walking up to the security guards, she let them search through her bag, and told them that she had an appointment with the CEO.

They called via an internal phone network, and after confirming her identity, led her to the elevator, “Take it up to the top.”

“Thank you.”

The top floor was thirty-five storeys up, and the ride up seemed to take forever. It wasn’t like she was scared of being so high up, but more of being stuck inside an enclosed four by four box, with no way of knowing what was out there. Especially since the box was empty and there was only her in it.

She had her back against a wall, her hands gripping the railing, and watched as the number increased by one every second. Her ears popped slightly as the pressure increased inside the high-speed elevator.

As it neared thirty-five, she straightened her clothes, and regained her composure. The doors opened, inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped out, her footsteps slightly shaky. Walking up to an Asian woman wearing a headset, typing into a computer, she stood in front of the desk, and knocked twice on the surface.

“Good morning, is this Miss Luthor’s office? I’m Kara El, the reporter from CatCo.”

The woman looked up, “Give me a moment, I’ll check in with Miss Luthor to see if she is ready.” She disappeared behind a door for a few seconds, and reappeared, “right this way, please.”

And she was led to that door, the woman opening it for her. She was led into an open, simplistic office with floor to ceiling windows that made the room bright and airy, not unlike Cat Grant’s. There were two sofas to one side, a large flat-screen that would make any home cinema fanatic jealous. Her interviewee was seated at her own desk, typing on her computer.

She had gone through hell and back, multiple times. One Fortune 500 CEO was nothing compared to her past with a certain dictatorial tyrant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter five and six are technically “twin chapters”, but they seemed better if I separated them, as I do love a good pause. I’ll post this today, and you’ll see its partner in a few days.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara meets Lena Luthor for the first time, and some thing get revealed.

The reporter from CatCo was nothing like she expected. She had expected a man, with frumpy clothes and messy hair, ‘shabby not so chic’ as she had once heard. This reporter was a young blonde, maybe even younger than her. She was also well-dressed in a tailored navy blue shirt, pencil skirt and polished heels. Her hair was pulled into an elegant half-up-half-down hairdo, her glasses were shiny. Oddly, only her left hand was covered with a black, leather glove.

The reporter stuck out her ungloved right hand, “Kara El, it’s an honor to interview you, Miss Luthor.”

Standing up from her desk, she reached over to shake it, “Lena Luthor, although you already know that, I presume. Please, take a seat,” she offered, gesturing to the chairs in front of her desk.

“Would you mind if I recorded this interview? It would be a lot easier to type,” Kara asked as she sat down.

“Not at all, just speed this interview along, ask me what you want to ask me. I’m sure you want to know all about how I became CEO.”

Taking out her notebook and recorder from her bag, she set it up and replied, “Actually, my first question is why did you choose National City of all places?”

“Miss El, I’m here for a fresh start, let me have one. It was after Lex went on his reign of terror in Metropolis, built all those weapons, basically declaring war on the government, we received a lot of scrutiny.” Lena explained, “people gathered outside the building protesting, made it impossible for me or anyone who worked there to get to and from work safely. Hence I made the easy decision to relocate the business, we already had a functional building in National City, so why not?”

“Miss Luthor, so what do you plan on doing, now that you are in charge?” Kara asked, ticking off the first question written on her notepad.

“You know, it wasn’t always, was adopted when I was four, the person that made me feel most welcome was Lex. He was the person that attended my chess tournaments, science fairs. He was the one who complimented me on a piece of homework well done. He made me proud to be a Luthor. That was until it was like he was possessed by some tyrant.”

Kara nodded, barely saying anything, except twirling her pen, silently hoping that Miss Luthor would elaborate.

“When Lex got arrested, I had to take over my company and turn the tide from weaponry to something better, more beneficial. Such as perhaps, healthcare or clean energy. In fact, if you would like, I could take you down to the labs and show you some of our prototypes.”

Kara smiled, “That would be great! Please, lead the way.”

Lena stood up from her chair, grabbing her keycard from her desk, and motioned for Miss El to follow her, taking her out of the office, and down to the fifteenth floor.

After swiping her card over the sensor, the automatic doors opened, leading into a long hallway with walls of glass, so that people could see what was going on inside each of the rooms. Doors, also made of glass allowed people to go in and out. “This is futuristic,” Kara breathed.

“LuthorCorp has always had a branch on the west coast here in National City, as you know, but we have now moved headquarters and most of our major projects here,” she opened the door to one of the rooms, “for example, here we have people investigating pluripotent stem cells for 3D printing.”

“ _Bitte, auf Englisch_?” she asked, jokingly.

“We are experimenting with turning back the biological clock to see if we could reprogram adult cells to form other types of body cells on a mass scale to 3D print organs.”

“Internal organs?” Kara asked.

“Mostly, it's easier for internal organs at the moment, limbs post more of a challenge due to their complexity. Don’t touch anything, but you can take a look at what’s inside these Petri dishes or under the microscopes.”

Stepping over to where one of the scientists was hunched over a computer screen showing images from an electron microscope. She hadn’t seen cells in this detail since her biology textbooks in college, or the occasional photograph on the internet. “Oh my, these look amazing, although I don't know much about it, I'll leave them to,” she gestured to the scientists around her, “the experts.”

They left that room and headed to the lab next door. “Here, we are making strides in robotics. Such as, with the help of surgeons and engineers, we have constructed here, two robot hands, which can be controlled remotely using a pair of gloves. You can also use the gloves to pre-program in a fixed routine, I can foresee that this will be vital in different types of industry.”

Kara inspected the technology, “So, I assume there are pressure sensors so that whatever it holds is not squashed, right? And that it has a titanium or carbon fibre skeleton?”

“Exactly, do you have a background in engineering or product design?”

“No, but I watch way too much of that on YouTube,” Kara laughed.

“If you want, you could try it out?” Lena suggested, handing her the pair of controller gloves, “I see that you already have a glove on, you might want to take it off though, i don’t think it’ll fit under these.”

So she did just that, using her ungloved right hand, she tugged at the fingers on the glove on her left hand, before giving it a good yank, removing it.

Sure enough, nobody screamed, but she heard many gasps, even from the usually composed CEO beside her, as they took in the mechanical hand with joints made of silvery metal, and silicone fingertips.

“I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me,” came out of Lena’s mouth, “I should have guessed that there was a reason you wore only one glove.”

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t know,” Kara responded, with a certain rehearsed familiarity to her words.

\---

Sitting back in Miss Luthor’s office, they continued the interview, where Kara continued asking her questions regarding her decisions with the company. “I plan on renaming it L-Corp, make it a force for good,” she replied, turning on the TV screen, which displayed an animation of a spinning silver logo, not too different from the current LuthorCorp logo. “Please, Miss El, I’m just a woman trying to make a name for herself outside her family, do you understand that.”

“Yes, Miss Luthor. Good day,” Kara replied as she nodded politely, standing up to head outside. She had a hunch that it would not be the last time they saw each other.

\---

She got back to CatCo at half past one with a detailed plan in her mind of the article she was going to write, so she set up her computer, opened up Word and began to type. Lunch did not even cross her mind, once her mind was set, she finished the task.

Her colleagues also knew that it was a bad idea to distract her from her work, none of them wanting to be a victim of those metal knuckles.

Apparently she had been writing for hours, as by the time Alex had arrived and slammed her hands on the desk to seek her attention, the sky was already dark, and most people had already gone home. “I knew I’d find you still at work, you weren’t listening to your phone.”

Kara looked up from her screen, “What are you doing here?”

“Sister night? Did you forget?”

“Is it Tuesday?”

“Yes! You workaholic.”

“You have the audacity to call me a workaholic when I have found you asleep in front of your laptop opened to Excel, multiple times!”

“Now come on, you can finish typing that tomorrow.”

“Just this one paragraph?”

“Ugh, okay, just make it quick.” Alex sighed, Kara could be so persistent sometimes.

And her fingers flew over the keyboard, tapping the keys rhythmically and with such precision that backspace was hardly pressed.

“You can take the girl away from the piano, but not the piano away from the girl,” Alex thought, as she saw Kara’s hands dance over the keys like they were made of ivory.

Kara didn’t seem to notice, and in a few minutes, she had finished typing, “ _Ewuhsh_ ,” she replied as she slapped the laptop closed, placing it inside her bag and standing up. “Let’s go.”

The two of them headed downstairs to where Alex’s shiny silver car was parked, Kara dumped her stuff in the back seat, while she settled in shotgun. Alex maneuvered it out of the indoor parking lot and onto the streets. It was a comfortable silence for the first few blocks until Alex broke it. “You know I’m glad that you don’t drive, ever since I saw the look on the examiner’s face when he reluctantly, emphasis reluctantly, wrote a pass on your seventh attempt,” she remarked, “that pout should be listed as a WMD.”

“General Ze probably already added it to the Kryptonian Forces’ database years ago,” Kara replied jokingly.

The two of them laughed, and Alex turned on the radio, “Weird, they’re playing classical music.”

“Not exactly, this is modern instrumental, more specifically a film score. This is For The Love of a Princess, by James Horner, the original performed by the London Symphony Orchestra.”

That gave them an idea, after stopping to pick up food midway, they arrived back at Kara’s apartment, where they decided to watch Braveheart. Just for its beautifully haunting soundtrack.

\---

**_Thirteen Years Ago, Metropolis_ **

It wasn’t her first time at a concert hall. Ever since she had been taken in by the Luthors, she had been taken to various classical music events, from the opera to this. A piano competition. Apparently one of their business partners, a foreign man with a funny accent in a pinstripe suit and glasses, had invited them there, as he had said that his daughter was one of the competitors. And Lionel had been eager to attend, saying that he would bring his daughter to show her the ropes. They were patrons of the arts, after all.

She sat between her father and his business partner, and the concert hall was dark, except for the well-lit stage.

A skinny blonde girl around her age walked up the stage, her back was straight as a ruler, her face expressionless, her stride confident. Her red collared shirt seemed a little loose for her, but her black skirt fit well. She bowed in front of the audience and took her place at the piano.

She began to play, it wasn’t a piece that Lena recognized, but the bespectacled man next to her muttered, “Liszt Liebestraum”, or something similar.

It started out slow, but graceful, the girl’s touch was light and delicate on the keys as if one were petting a cat, as if it were really a dream, like what the title meant.

But the delicateness gave way to an increase in velocity, and the feeling of melancholy emphasised, as if it was the precursor a hurricane. As if it were before a nightmare.

Then rain fell, and the mood shifted from sadness to happiness, and delicateness turned to majesty. Then the storm ended with a final downpour.

The calm, peacefulness returned, and the light, delicate touch returned and culminated in a few long, legato chords.

The girl stood up, her hands grasped in front of her, and she bowed stiffly before heading offstage. Lena saw the foreign, bespectacled man wipe tears from his eyes discreetly.

Later, when they left the auditorium, the adults lingered around the backstage entrance, seizing the opportunity to talk more business before they left for dinner. She wasn’t the only child, as a juniors’ piano competition, there were other children and teenagers.

In the corner of her eye, she saw the girl in the red shirt. Their eyes met, and she felt absorbed into a world full of pain and fire. Momentarily, they stared into each other’s souls and she felt the other girl relax. Then the girl turned her eyes to Lionel and his companion.

The business partner turned his eyes to the girl, his mouth hung open slightly, and his posture stiffened, he looked around, just like the girl. The girl shouted something at him in their foreign language, “ _Ukiem khuhp rraop, ukr_.”

And in that moment, the world stood still.

Then a man in black dress pants and a dark red jacket appeared, placing a hand on the girl’s head and turned away forcefully, which prompted the girl to head that way. There seemed to be a tacit agreement between them.

\---

**_Present Day_ **

With a renaming ceremony the next day, she decided to call it quits earlier than usual. But with what was on her mind, she was sure she had to do something with it. Kara El, that CatCo reporter was something interesting, she was sure that they had met before. But where?

She picked up her phone and called a number that had been on it for quite a while.

“Hello, this is Lena Luthor, and I’d like for you to check out a Kara El.”

“Public record or more?”

“Dig a bit deeper so it’s interesting, but not too much so it’s illegal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the second part. It was fun writing in someone else’s point of view for a change. This is going to be regular thing, after all I plan to keep it like a TV show.
> 
> Translations to English  
> (From German) Bitte, auf Englisch - Please, in English?  
> (From Kryptonian) Ewuhsh - Finish  
> (From Kryptonian) Ukiem khuhp rraop, ukr - I love you, father


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History is made, LuthorCorp becomes L-Corp. But in the process, mayhem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, a warning about language, there is going to be some dirty language here, so don’t let your parents see.

Fire. 

Everything around her was burning. The air smelt of smoke, of dust. There was a chill in her bones as she looked around at the flames. There was a loud noise, and another bullet whizzed past her. Then another. Then another. They didn’t scare her anymore like they used to.

They were not taking it easy, that was for sure.

So she positioned her rifle, slipped her index finger around the trigger, pulled it and retaliated.

\---

Being the person who wrote the feature article regarding Lena Luthor, Ms Grant decided that she was the perfect person who would report the renaming ceremony. It also happened to be the perfect chance for her to work with the new art director.

That morning, they stood in the CEO’s office, “Jimmy Olsen, this is Kiera,” Ms Grant said, “he’s in charge of the images, she’s in charge of the words. Now chop chop, they won’t wait for you to make history.”

“Yes Ms Grant,” Kara replied as she grabbed her coat and bag, starting to head out of the room, following Mr Olsen.

“So you’re Jimmy Olsen, the photographer from the Daily Planet in Metropolis, who won the Pulitzer last year.”

“James Olsen, Jimmy’s reserved for my mom and my best friend. Can’t seem to get them to change.”

“And it’s actually Kara, to everybody on the planet but Ms Grant”

“So, we’re going to take a cab there?”

“Actually, we might want to take the metro. From what I’ve heard they’ve closed off a few roads near the event so a taxi won’t be able to take us near there. The metro station has an exit right next to the square outside the LuthorCorp building.”

James nodded, “Sure,” and they both headed towards the elevators.

\---

Both of them gathered in the plaza where everyone was. A stage was set up with a podium and microphone. A large banner with the new logo, and “L-Corp: A New Beginning” was hung behind it. They stood right in the front where there was a clear view of the speakers and guests.

Lena Luthor walked up on stage at exactly when the clock struck ten. She strode up to the podium, “I want to thank you all for coming. My brother hurt a lot of good innocent people. My family owes a debt, not just to the people of Metropolis, but to everyone. And I intend to pay that by renaming my company L-Corp. We will usher in a new age.”

Kara held up a recorder at Miss Luthor, recording her speech, but right after she had said her introduction, there was a loud bang, and flames erupted behind the stage. People screamed and began running. It was havoc.

“ _ Shisir! _ ” Kara cursed, turning to James, “Take care of yourself and as many photos as you can! This is breaking news!” And they split up.

She wasn’t unaccustomed to this, having been to combat zones with double or even triple the level of chaos here, and thus, while others were panicking, she kept her cool, shuffling her way out, remaining as calm as she could.

That was when she had heard “Help!”

She whipped her head that way, and saw a man holding up a gun, in what looked like a stolen police officer’s uniform. There were two people, one of them being Lena Luthor, and another being a large burly man in a dark suit, probably a bodyguard, directly in the bullet’s path. 

She dashed that way.

What she did could either be considered brave or stupid. But the next few moments were a blur to Kara, so with pain coursing through her, it was Lena that told her and the real cops what had happened.

Apparently with a rush of adrenaline, she had used her prosthetic arm to stop the bullet just as it was being fired, yelled at the two women to run, while tackling the shooter to the ground and disarming him. But unfortunately, that had lead to her landing on her wrist on her good hand, while her prosthetic was blast to smithereens.

Another officer began to radio for help, and within minutes a fleet of ambulances arrived to deal with any problems that had arised. Apparently, she wasn’t the only casualty. There were a number of other people who had been accidently knocked over and caused a stampede.

Sitting on a bench in front of a row of parked ambulances, a paramedic immobilized her right wrist using a triangular bandage. Then he began to work on her left arm. When the bullet hit, the force had dislocated her shoulder (there was nothing to do about that until the hospital), there was also some shrapnel embedded in her flesh, which he proceeded to remove bit by bit using a pair of forceps. She also had a minor concussion, when she tackled the man and hit her head on the ground. Needless to say, it brought her back some old memories that she buried deep in her mind, ones that she hoped would not see the light of day.

“You’ll need to go to a hospital, but there are many others in more serious condition, so you’ll have to wait a while,” he replied as he secured the gauze bandages.

She nodded and started staring out into space, her bag was right next to her, but because she couldn’t use both her arms, it wasn’t possible for her to take her phone out to call James.

“Thanks for saving me,” she heard a familiar voice say next to her. She turned her head, and made out the face of Lena Luthor. 

“Just doing what I could, Miss Luthor.”

“Anyone who saves my life deserves to call me Lena,” she replied, “and not everyone would throw themselves at a gunman to stop a bullet.”

“Bullets don’t faze me, Miss Luthor, I mean Lena, and if I’m calling you that, please, use Kara, my given name, instead of my surname.”

At that moment, a paramedic interrupted them, telling them that the she was ready to be transported to the hospital.

“See you later,” Kara replied, as the paramedic picked up her bag, and using the other hand, helped her to her feet and led her towards the ambulance.

\---

Strapped in her seat, there was another young man on a gurney who looked dazed and unresponsive but not unconscious, he was bleeding heavily from an open fracture from his leg, and there was nothing the paramedics could do other than supply him oxygen and try to stop the hemorrhage using a torquinet until they arrived at the hospital.

It was silent, and it felt awkward, so she asked where they were going.

“National City General Hospital,” the paramedic sitting in the back with them said.

“Um, sir,” she asked the paramedic, “is it okay if you get my phone out of my bag please?”

“I don’t think you can move your arms.”

“I know, but can you dial the number and hold the phone for me? Just need to call my boss, and tell her what happened, I’m supposed to be working.”

“Sure,” he replied, and then Kara whispered her passcode to him to unlock it.

After a few rings, Ms Grant’s personal assistant, an Eve Tessmacher, answered the phone, “Cat Grant's office, this is Eve.”

“Eve, this is Kara, and you might want to patch this straight to Ms Grant, since I’m headed straight for the hospital.”

“Oh my, you okay? I’ll send you straight to her.”

“Keira, I was going to wait ten more minutes before I called you, knowing the commotion, but you decided to call me.”

“Ms Grant, I might have to call off the article, I’m currently headed to NC General.”

“I saw the breaking news, you’re going to interview some of the casualties? That’s new and interesting.”

“Ms Grant, I’m one of the casualties,” that shut her up, “Got a dislocated shoulder and presumably broken wrist.”

“I presume you want me to tell James?”

“Yes, Ms Grant.”

It was at that moment that the vehicle stopped, and the doors opened. The paramedic hung up for her and placed the phone back in her bag. Immediately, with practiced efficiency, the man in the stretcher was unloaded first, then they helped her out, guiding her through the swarm of patients to a seat in the ER waiting area.

“The paramedics briefed us about your condition, someone’s going to pick you up for an X-ray and a CT in a bit, first may I have some identification to fill in admin forms?” the nurse who guided her there asked her.

“They’re in my wallet in my bag,” Kara replied.

The woman took out her driver’s license, and write down something on a clipboard while reading from it, then place it back where it came from.

Slowly, she raised her head and looked around her. It was complete chaos. She looked around her. Beside her was a woman slightly older than her, trying to calm a crying toddler, screaming in her ear. She knew she could help, after all, she used to babysit Kal, but she couldn’t deal with a noisy child when she was in pain and she couldn’t move her hands.

So she did the next best thing and smiled at the boy, who somehow sensed it, stopped crying and looked at her.

The little boy started giggling, and pointing at her. She smiled back, and in the corner of her vision, she saw two familiar figures head towards her.

Alex and Ms Grant, what were they doing here together?

Kara made eye contact with her sister and the brown eyes flashed with an emotion she had been on the receiving end way too many times throughout their adolescence.

_ Great _ , she was coming to chew her ear off.

“What were you thinking?” Alex asked when she was finally standing in front of her sister, her arms were folded, and she exuded a sense of authority in her dark suit, despite not having to raise her voice, “You’re a paradox sometimes, you listen to orders and directions and follow them to a tee, then there are the times that you blatantly ignore the rules to do your own thing, recklessly. I don’t like how you’ve willingly run into danger, multiple times.”

“Alex, it was my assignment, danger wasn’t supposed to be part of it.”

Ms Grant stepped in, “She’s saying the truth, I did give her an assignment at the renaming ceremony.”

“Thank you,” Kara mouthed at her boss, but her boss’s rant wasn’t finished.

“But I did NOT ask for you to go get yourself killed! And now the company has to pay your medical bills.”

Kara looked straight at them, remaining emotionless, when suddenly, a wave of shock struck her. “I wasn’t planning on killing myself! I can protect myself, I can use my entire childhood as proof!”

It was then that the nurse arrived, “Miss El, I’m here to take you for your scans.”

Saved by the bell. Kara stood up, and turned towards Alex, “Please look after my things for me.”

And she followed after the nurse to the radiography chambers.

\---

Lying in a gurney in the ER was not fun, especially with a double hand injury. There was nothing to do except wait for the doctor to come in with her results to decide on what was going to happen to her.

Luckily, she was pumped full of sedation drugs and could hardly feel any the pain she previously went through. 

It was ten minutes later that a doctor in scrubs walked in, “The results are in, you only have a simple distal radial fracture, along with the shoulder dislocation, and now I’m here to reset it, it will only take a moment.”

The doctor walked right next to her, where he placed his gloved hands on her shoulder where the bone was jutting out at a wrong angle and with one swift, hard movement, popped it back where it should be.

Kara swore loudly as the wave of pain hit her.

\---

Alex and Ms Grant were leaning right outside the curtains, as the patient herself had shooed them away.

Alec winced when Kara’s voice called out, “ _ Plehs khuhtiv fahghozh _ !”

Ms Grant turned to Alex, “So your sister does know how to swear.”

“Usually only in Kryptonian, I’ve seen her get told off many times over her filthy mouth when we were teens. It’s less prevalent these days, but we all blame her aunt for it.”

The curtains were drawn back and the doctor walked out, facing Alex, he told her, “Her shoulder’s now in the right place, but she will have to wear a splint, it’s more of a wrap though. She’ll also have to stop using a prosthetic arm for the next few weeks, at least until the next checkup, as the extra weight will only exacerbate the injury. As for her wrist, the same thing applies, someone will apply a cast in just a while. The severity of her injuries will take at least a month to heal fully, so she will need a checkup then. But because of the concussion, sure it may be considered mild, but I’d prefer if she stay the night for observation. You may go in, someone will take her for the cast in just a moment.”

Both women nodded, and the doctor left, hurrying to tend to the next patient.

“She’s definitely taking at least the next three weeks off then,” Ms Grant replied, so Alex could hear.

And they both headed in to tell Kara the news, now the IV was unplugged from her, and she was beginning to recover from the trauma. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the medical scenario, the reason why Kara wasn’t transported to the hospital, or seen by the doctor as soon as possible because of different types of triage. So a fracture is quite urgent in the ER, but because she could still walk, it wasn’t so important to the paramedics. Anyway, that’s here for now.
> 
> Translations to English  
> *WARNING: Don’t show your parents, filthy language*  
> (From Kryptonian) Shisir - Damn  
> (From Kryptonian) Plehs khuhtiv fahghozh - Eat my underwear (meaning “eat shit”)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sudden encounter with a new friend and secrets are spilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, a warning about language, there is going to be some dirty language here, like someone dropping an F-bomb, but nothing too major.

She hated hospitals. The smell of antiseptic, the fear of sickness and germs, that overhanging feeling of morbidity and dreaded death. It was slightly better now that Alex and Ms Grant were not here nagging her, except that the former had promised to come back in a few hours to retrieve her overnight bag for her. 

Sighing, she curled up further under the blanket, sinking deeper into her bed. “Miss El, it’s time to change your bandages,” she heard a nurse approach her, interrupting her thoughts. She shouldn’t have jinxed it.

She emerged from her cocoon, poking her head out, “Yes?”

“It’s time to get your bandages changed.”

“Okay,” she muttered, exasperated, as she sat up from her bed, and the nurse helped her unbutton the hospital pyjamas to expose her left shoulder. She unwound the hastily done bandaging, and carefully removed the stained pieces, before replacing the gauze covering the lacerations that were treated using a combination of skin glue and tape closers.

Once the nurse finished, she informed her that dinner would be at seven, she was left alone. Well, alone as in with five other women, all older than her, she wasn’t suited for the pediatrics ward after all. She sighed and leaned back, propped up with pillows.

“So, kid, what brought you here?” asked the middle aged woman on the bed next to her.

Kara shifted and turned towards her, “Concussion,” she replied, ignoring about the remark on her age, she knew she had always looked younger than she actually was.

“You look familiar, you know, where have I seen you before?”

“The news perhaps, I’m a reporter.”

That reminded her that she still had an article. So she sneakily slid out of her bed, took out her laptop from her bag, wincing a little at the pain, and returned to the bed where she turned on the thing and began to write.

\---

“So here’s your stuff, I took the liberty of throwing away that shirt they cut, and the rest of your dirty laundry is in the hamper in your bathroom. So when you leave tomorrow, you’ll only have to carry this one bag,” Alex explained as she dumped a grey duffel bag (which also served as her gym bag) on the floor beside Kara’s bed.

“This is why I love you!” Kara exclaimed and went to hug her sister.

“If that's what it takes for you to love me, I guess I shouldn't have gone through all the trouble to buy you this next thing,” Alex gestured to a familiar brown paper bag resting on top of a cupboard.

“Is that Big Belly Burger?”

“You think I will let you just eat that horrible crap they call dinner here? I know you have a big appetite, you can finish an extra burger or two.”

“Yesss!!!”

\---

It took a while to finally be able to grasp the pen and sign her name on the sheet of paper, but finally, after an entire night of torture, she was finally discharged! What a relief!

Sure, she got to wear pyjamas for the rest of the day, but hospital pyjamas were never as comfortable as the old T-shirt and yoga pants that she usually wore when she lounged around at home. Which was definitely something that she was going to be doing a lot of for the next few days. The doctors and nurses coming at her every once in a while was starting to become unbearable, like a prison warden or security guard.

With the duffle bag slung on her uninjured shoulder, she trudged over to the metro station exit just down the street from the hospital. Thankfully she had bothered to memorize transport routes so she didn’t have to take out her phone and bombard herself with the bright screen.

She walked through the station and the attendant on duty was kind enough to give her a hand to slide her transit pass out of her wallet and place it against the sensor when her sling was in the way.

She headed to the correct platform, and as soon as the train arrived, took the closest seat, sat down and began absently staring into space, thinking of what she could do over the next few days of “sick” leave.

Suddenly, someone yelling snapped her out of her bliss. “Kid, get up! You’re in the priority seat!”

Kara snapped her head up, a woman, probably middle aged or maybe just retired, was fuming at her. She opened and closed her mouth, shocked, when that moment, she noticed something, “Ma’am, there’s a seat behind you,” she replied, politely and gently.

“But you’re in the priority seat! What is a young girl like you even doing there?! Get you ass out of the chair!” the woman exclaimed. By then, people around them were starting to look.

Wordlessly, she stared down at her arm in the cast in the sling, and at the brace wrapped around her shirt. Her stump from where they cut it off five inches off her shoulder was also in full view, it being a short-sleeved shirt. She didn’t know how the woman couldn’t notice her injuries.

“Did your mother even teach you? Kid?”

“First, I’m twenty-four, and second, my  _ jeju  _ has been dead for more than a decade.”

“So, fucking move! Since you’re an adult, you should know better to respect your elders!”

They had attracted most people's attention by then, she saw some people take out their phones, glancing nastily at either the woman or Kara. She snuck a look at the lights on the map of the train. Just one more stop, she only had to buy a little bit more time.

Thankfully, a familiar voice cut in, “Ma’am, may I suggest you go harass another young person in another priority seat. This woman, while young has just as many rights to use it as much as you do. Can you see that she cannot use both her hands to balance herself when standing up? She might fall down and hurt herself. More. If you’re interested in paying medical bills, please continue.”

Querl Dox, the soft-spoken, polite Mr Dox was the one who stood up for her.

“So, who told her to go and hurt herself?!”

There were multiple gasps, but then they arrived at the station, and Kara jumped out of the seat and made a beeline out of the train. She heard voices and then footsteps follow her out. As soon as she stepped onto the escalator, she spoke, “Mr Dox, what made you want to stick up for me?”

“How did you know it was me following you and not that asshole?”

“She would have ran, you just followed me at my pace.”

“True, and to answer your question, it is because you are a hero, if you didn’t see the news, there was footage that a blond woman stopped a gunman at the ceremony with a prosthetic arm. From what I deduced, that person was you. Someone like you wouldn’t take advantage of anything.”

Kara found herself nodding at everything Mr Dox said, “Please, call me Kara, and thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, and friends call me Brainy.”

“So, Brainy, would you like to head up to my place for lunch? It’s appropriate that I treat my saviour to some actual authentic Kryptonian cuisine.”

“I doubt you can cook right now,” he deadpanned.

“Do you really think so lightly of me?” Kara replied, and headed out of the station.

Brainy followed, and they arrived in front of a brick building, where Kara punched in the security code and kicked open the door, leading into a clean, modern looking foyer where they both took the elevator up to the fifteenth floor, where Kara’s apartment was.

She fumbled for the key at the door, but failed to hold it due to the cast obstructing her grasp. Brainy picked it up from the floor when she dropped it and opened the door for her. “Thanks.”

She opened the door, “Welcome to my  _ rurrelahs _ , I apologize for the mess though.”

“You’re kidding, you call this a mess?” Brainy breathed as Kara kicked off her shoes and closed the door. Brainy proceeded to do the same.

“It kind of is, the primus would have my head if my room were like this when I was a child.”

“The primus?”

“Primus Dru Zod, you know the dictatorial tyrant in Kandor like a decade ago?”

“Oh that guy, you knew him?”

“More than I needed to,” she muttered. “This’ll just take a moment,” she continued and went into her bedroom, dumping the duffle on the floor.

Heading back out, she led her guest into the living room, “Please, TV’s all yours.”

She then went into the kitchen, where she opened a cabinet and scooped some rice from a container, placing it into the rice cooker bowl and giving it a good rinse until the water was clearer, she placed it back in the electric cooker and turned it on. While the rice cooked, she took out a few dishes from the fridge, and peeled away the cling film on top before placing it into the electric steamer. She filled up the water tray, turned that gadget on and went out to chat.

She found Brainy standing in front of her digital piano, “So you still play?” He had opened the lid and began pressing the keys in a way only a trained pianist could.

“You know I don’t mind you turning it on and actually play it. I’m sure my neighbours would love it.”

“Not unless you tell me how you got this piano, it looks too new to be from when you were a child.”

“Well, it’s quite a long story.”

“I have all day,” Querl replied, and as he began to play, Kara slipped into story time.

\---

**_Eight Years Ago, Metropolis_ **

She hated American high school. Back in Krypton, she had been a celebrated, popular student, with a multitude of awards and scholarships under her belt. Now, she was walking home, nursing a shiner where a boy had punched her to make her know her place as a “foreign spy”.

She didn’t cry, nor did she show any sign of weakness when the incident happened, knowing clearly what tactics to use. You could only win if you knew about the enemy. The less those bullies knew about her, the less harm they could do to her. So when they were called into the head’s office, she only said one sentence, “Check the CCTV cameras.”

She got out scot-free, while Jake Howell was sentenced with a week of suspension. She was sent to the nurse’s office, who let her out early with an ice pack.

As soon as she arrived home, she loosened her tie, draped her blazer over the sofa and threw herself horizontally over said couch. She placed the now half-melted ice pack over her eyes and turned on the TV for a bit of white noise.

She didn’t notice her father entering the room, but Zor El noticed his daughter, “Kara, why are you back now?”

She sat up, and he winced, seeing the black eye, “Oh...kay… Anyway, I have something for you. Come on out.”

She straightened her clothing, and followed him to the formal dining room, where another man in a suit sat. Great, another one of his annoying business partners.

“Kara, this is Mr Vlatav, he has a proposition.”

“Kara is it? The name’s Anton, your father has shown me quite a few videos of you playing the piano. How would you like to teach my daughter?”

Kara cocked her head at him, looking at him curiously, she then spoke, “How old is she?”

“Around your age actually, you’re sixteen, right?” Kara nodded.

“We’ve gone through quite a number of piano teachers, especially since she was a teenager. I can tell that she enjoys the piano, but can’t find a suitable mentor. Maybe, you, as a peer could be better than the others we tried.”

“So she is not a true beginner, she knows how to read music.”

“Yes, if you have any questions, here’s my business card,” he took one out of his pocket, please consider it.”

Her heart started racing, she paled. What was she going to do? This was not something she had predicted. She looked at her father, his eyes seemed to say “go for it.”

So, against her better judgement, she replied “Sir, I will take the offer. When and where do we meet?”

XXX

She had finished school that day on a Friday, and was led by the Vlatav’s chauffeur to their car. Before he opened the door, he said, “Your student is inside.”

She nodded her thanks at him, and stepped inside, seeing a brunette, her hair curled and coiffed to perfection, her uniform glamorous and accessorized. The exact opposite of Kara’s plain, practical approach.

“So you go to the same school as I do?! My father didn’t say that my new piano teacher was still a student,” the girl exclaimed, looking at the crest on the blazer.

“My name is Kara El, good day,” Kara extended her hand out, which the brunette shook.

“I’ve heard your name somewhere,’ she wracked her brain. Immediately, she took out her phone and typed something in, ending up with a link to a YouTube video. She turned the phone to Kara, “You’re her, right? The famous concert pianist!”

“Well, maybe just in certain circles, but I am just here to tell you that despite what you may think, I might not be the teacher you think I am. I am harsh, I am strict. I will not coddle you to teach you the correct fingering. I will yell at you and berate you. You will have lots of homework, and I expect you to practice. You will come to hate me, your drill sergeant, but when you win a competition, you will look at this differently.”

The girl gave Kara a glare, who remained indifferent.

XXX

When they arrived at the Vlatav’s place, the girl, Perdita, led Kara over to the piano, a baby grand in the middle of the living room. Kara did a few chromatic scales, muttered about the instrument needing a bit of tuning, and placed a sheet on the stand.

“Bach’s Minuet in G? This is for beginners!”

“I need to know where you are at.”

So Perdita played, even for such a short piece, she ended up making a few mistakes.

So Kara began her lecture, “Your sight reading is horrible, if you can not tackle such an easy piece, how are you going to play an entire Chopin etude. You also need to be lighter on your touch. There are no staccatos in the sheet, you cannot press as hard. Also your time signatures are all wrong. You are playing it like it was quadruple time instead of triple time. Now, play just the right hand, remember, using your shoulder is just as important as your fingers.” She stood in front of the piano and played the first few bars as an example.

XXX

It seemed that Perdita couldn’t keep her mouth shut and word got out that Kara was teaching her the piano, and was really good at it. There were a few people who wanted to learn, she became their go-to-guru on the subject. Some even wanted her advice on buying their first instrument.

One day, she was at the music store with a few classmates, one wanting to start learning from scratch, so she tried out a few pianos, and surprised the store owner by playing the entire right hand to Chopin’s Etude Op 10 No 4. Flawlessly.

Abruptly, her hand stopped, and a dark, morbid thought entered her mind.

Her classmates, and the owner didn’t seem the notice. In fact the latter was impressed, gifting her with her own digital piano for the wonderful performance when her friend bought their own keyboard. “One instrument is nothing,” he said, smiling at her, “to have the winner of the Tchaikovsky competition in my shop, this is an honour and a privilege.”

\---

**_Present Day_ **

“So, you’re saying the shop owner gave you a piano because you were an amazing pianist? You have got to be joking.”

“I’m not,” there was a beeping noise in the background, signalling that it was done, “wow, look at the time, the food’s ready. Let’s eat.”

Brainy stopped playing, switched off the piano, and headed into the kitchen with Kara, where she was scooping out rice from the electric cooker into bowls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The National City subway system is based off my hometown of Hong Kong. Kryptonian food is based off East Asian cuisine. You know because of potstickers.
> 
> Also, just watched the past few episodes of Supergirl, (4x16 and 4x17) and am surprised at the amount of classical music they chucked in there. I recognised Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik and Shostakovich’s Waltz No. 2 immediately. Love it!
> 
> Translations to English  
> (From Kryptonian) Jeju - mother (and also a city in Korea, but well… off topic)  
> (From Kryptonian) Rurrelahs - home or house


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain someone seeks some advice from Kara, and she goes full in to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: canon level of violence

The first week was amazing. She slept in, which was something dreamlike that she hadn’t done since college. She binged every single series that she didn’t have the time to get round to. It was perfect.

But by the second week, her time off was getting unbearable. She had spent days surfing the internet, watching random things, just being lazy. Her YouTube history had grown logarithmically, as well as her Netflix queue. Well, that was an exaggeration, although she did feel like the past few days had been the most unproductive she had been in the last few years. 

Even though she had sent her article off to Ms Grant for editing, she hadn’t heard back from anything. It was probably due to her lack of sources, because of the surprise attack and being stuck in the hospital. So, there was no actual work to do.

She had an entire list of shows that she wanted to watch, and was currently lounging lazily on the sofa streaming  _ My Hero Academia _ , eating from a bag of salted pretzels, when she heard a knock from the main door.

“Huh?” she thought, putting down the snacks and heading towards it.

When she opened the door, Brainy barged straight in, “Guess what the piece for the finals is?!” he shoved a book into Kara’s arms.

She hid her wince at the sudden pain at the strong force, and read the title out loud, “Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 in C Sharp Minor.”

“Yes! That nightmare of a piece! It’s ten minutes long, with a range of different styles!”

“So, what may I do for you?” Kara asked.

Brainy looked at the door, which Kara proceeded to close. Once it was locked, he spoke, “Help me with my game plan. Help me win?” he asked her earnestly.

“Don’t you already have your own teacher?”

“He said that until I could actually feel the music, not to bother him.”

“Ouch. But he does have a point, you know. Music, while from a scientific point of view is nothing more than a series of longitudinal waves and confusing equations, from a human point of view is more than that. May you play it once for me?”

So Brainy sat down, laid out the sheet music and began playing. Within 20 seconds, Kara wanted to cover her ears, he was going at it way too fast, and way too harshly. But before she could ask him to stop, she halted herself. She had to listen to the entire thing so that she could make an accurate judgement.

She was glad when it finally stopped, she wanted to applaud but knew that with the reason behind it, it was childish.

Brainy turned around to face her, “How did I do?”

She wracked her brain for the correct words to get her opinion out, “Your technical skills are perfect, I know the sheet music and you followed the score perfectly. Unfortunately, your teacher is right, you do lack the feeling, and as I’ve written in my article, you play like a robot. Although I can figure out ways to remedy that. First, read up on Liszt, especially around the time period this was composed. With the decent internet here, I’m sure it’s possible.”

“So, I have to do homework?”

“Yes, and come back after you’ve read up on the reasons why he wrote this in a few days time.” She shooed him out the door, “Now go practice. Time’s a wastin’!”

\---

That afternoon, Alex found her hunched over her laptop, headphones over her ears. The room was dimly lit and the curtains were drawn shut, the light from her computer emitting an eerie, juxtaposing glow that was utterly fitting for the feeling.

Walking over to her sister, Alex yanked off the headphones and looked at the screen, “Hungarian Rhapsody? What is this?”

“Research!,” Kara snapped, putting the headphones back on and trying to catch the subtle differences between Valentina Lisitsa's, Adam Georgy’s and Tiffany Poon’s versions. The top three that popped up once she typed the name of the piece into YouTube.

“And research is listening to classical music? Are you doing another article on it?”

“Yes! It’s called ‘How to introduce someone to classical music’” she said sarcastically, “this is for a friend!”

Wordlessly, Alex turned the lights, Kara winced and glared at her sister. “You’re ruining your eyesight, might lose an eye along with that arm.”

Kara stood up and kicked her sister’s shins, the same way they did when they were younger at the dinner table.

“You brat…” Alex muttered, ready to retaliate but the younger woman had faster reflexes and stepped away quickly.

They chased after each other around the apartment until both of them collapsed on the sofa in the living room, laughing. “So, really, why are you listening to that?”

“I did say research right?” at Alex’s nod, she continued, “it’s true, a friend of mine who’s a pianist just got reprimanded by his teacher that he didn’t have enough emotion in his playing. I’m just helping him get it out and doing research.”

“Do I know him?”

“Not in person, but if you have read the article I wrote about the piano competition, you would have heard of him. Querl Dox.”

“Oh that guy, I've heard of him, some people call him ‘The Android’.”

\---

Like every experienced performer, she had a strict, ritualistic preparation regimen, especially before a competition. She would rehearse her programme as much as possible, until the entire thing was committed to muscle memory and nothing more than a reflex once the first key was pressed.

After she knew how to play the pieces, she would start reading up on the composer, particularly the chapter of their life when they were composing that particular piece. So she could guess what was going on inside their head as they scribbled the notes onto the staff paper.

Then she would sit and think, did she experience something similar to the composer? What kind of story did they want to tell? Could she, using her experiences, tell that story to her audience? Could she make them smile? Laugh? Cry? Sob? A good musician doesn’t just follow the score. They bring out feelings. They tell stories. Each piece she played would always be a tribute to whoever wrote it.

\---

Two days later, as Kara was reading, she had since she was a child, she heard a knock at her door. She headed over to open it, finding Brainy on the other side.

He spoke loudly, “I’ve done my research as you’ve told me to. What does reading Liszt’s biography have to with feeling music?”

Kara ushered him in, and closed the door, where both of them sat in front of each other at the dining table. “Tell me a bit about Liszt.”

“He was born in Hungary, but moved to Paris as a youth. He was friends with Niccolo Paganini, as well as Frederic Chopin. He studied under Carl Czerny.”

“Well, that’s part of it. Let’s analyse the piece with the information you gave me. First, Liszt was Hungarian. Hungarian Rhapsody, so aptly named, is composed using a traditional Hungarian Gypsy scale. Because he moved to Paris so young, his Hungarian wasn’t good, so he wrote this as an ode to his home country. You’ll find that it corresponds to the rolling hills, roaring rivers, bustling, majestic cities such as Budapest. You’re Canadian, do you miss Canada?”

Kara looked him in the eye and he gulped due to the intensity. She was dead serious.

“Yes, I miss it. I’ll admit it. I can’t wait to go home for a holiday after this round of competitions.”

Kara smiled at him, it seemed that he wasn’t as much of an Android as others thought.

“Channel your fondness for your country into this, replace the Hungarian Danube with Niagara Falls, or Lake Ontario. See if that helps. Now, play,” she gestured to the piano.

He pulled out the bench, and sat down. He started out with the familiar sounding, ominous chords. Then, transitioning gracefully into some shorter notes going up and down, and slurs. Suddenly, the music raised by octaves and sounded a lot more lighthearted. The trills also gave the feeling of a smooth, rushing river surrounded by high mountains. Then, almost instantaneously, it sounded like a dance, much like animals playing in the waters, or young scouts hiking. Throughout the piece, he transitioned between joyful, quick trills and slurs, into strong chords. Rivers, mountains, cities, hills, farms, you named it.

She felt like she had taken the next flight up north and had driven throughout the Canadian Rockies, as well as the freezing Yukon tundra. She had been transported to a country she had only been a handful of times, and only usually in the big cities. It was new and refreshing. 

She hadn’t been swept away by music that way since she had been the one playing years ago. 

Brainy lifted his hands off the keyboard and turned towards Kara, “What do you think?”

Kara tapped her foot, thinking deeply on how to describe the experience. “It was good, book me a ticket to Canada please? I really felt like I was there. But even if I did, it might not be work for others, so practice the method more, and you will get better at expressing feelings using music.”

“Will you be there for the finals?”

“If they send me to cover it. Tickets are NOT cheap you know.”

“They’ll probably let you in for free, if you use your full name.”

“I don’t like to use fame for my advantage. And I’ll be back at work by then, probably have tons to catch up with.”

“So, I can go back now?”

“Oh, yes. Go practice once or twice that way, and it’ll be second nature in no time.”

Kara didn’t get up from her sea as Brainy made his way out the door, as he was putting his shoes back on, he asked her, “Some of my friends would probably like to meet you, they’re also pianists. When and what would you like?”

“Um, Brainy, let’s wait until I can hold a fork or glass properly okay?” She waves her hand in the cast at him.

Sheepishly, he backed out the door, and Kara laughed as soon as the audible click was heard.

\---

Kara liked being useful, she liked doing things and not having empty thoughts. On Monday, she strode out the elevator at CatCo into the bullpen much to the shock of everyone else.

Nia’s eyes widened as she took in her superior’s dishevelled appearance. “It’s been less than two weeks! How did they let you out of the hospital so early! You literally blew up your arm!”

Kara sputtered, glancing down, her arm was exposed because for the first time in ages, she had worn a short-sleeved shirt to work, and had shed her coat. In fact, only people who worked long enough to see her at her job interview knew that the injury was nothing new. She hid it well enough.

Walking back to her desk and started laughing hysterically the moment she sat down.

Apparently, she chose the wrong moment, as Ms Grant strode out from her private elevator, “What is going on? Kiera? What are you doing here? Didn’t I prohibit you from coming to work until you can type at a reasonable speed again?”

The laughing subsided, and Kara glared at her boss, “I’ve been bored out of my skull, my brain has been left to rot for the past few days, another week, and I’ll forget how to be a reporter. Do you want me to continue doing my job?”

“Brazen, that’s a new colour on you. I like it,” Ms Grant mused. She waved her hand at Kara and Nia, beckoning them, “Keira, Nat.”

The two of them scurried after Ms Grant into her office, and sat on the chairs facing their CEO at her desk. She closed the door and glared angrily at her protege, who didn’t even flinch.

“I knew this would happen, you've never been the type to sit still and do nothing for long. Which is why I have planned for this since you called me that you were at the hospital,” she turned her gaze to Nia, “You are now her scribe for the foreseeable future until she can actually write again. As one of our interns, I am giving you the chance to shadow an actual journalist. You will report back directly to El and me.”

Kara turned to look at Nia, who was gaping like a fish, “Thank you Ms Grant. Thank you for giving this opportunity to me. I’ll do my best!”

“You better,” she raised an eyebrow at the brunette, “now, chop chop!”

Nia headed out the door just as Ms Grant mentioned to Kara that her next assignment would be sent to her email.

Once back at her seat, she booted up her computer and while waiting for it to load, she told Nia, “Congrats, you just became Cat Grant’s newest mentee.” She tried to give a thumbs up but the cast around her arm was in the way. She mocked a scowl at it.

Nia waited as Kara did her thing and five silent minutes later, asked, “So, what’s the topic?”

Wordlessly, Kara turned the screen towards Nia, who then gasped. “Yessss.”

Kara stared at her, her lips quirked up slightly, “Indeed, we are going to report about the finals.”

\---

That evening, Nia found herself staring out as the sun set over, a magnificent cityscape. Bronze and gold gleaming and glinting over the tips of steel, glass and concrete.

They had migrated over to the balcony on that floor. It was just them, making it easier to discuss things without getting shushed by the people at the desks next to them in the bullpen. 

“This view’s amazing, you can practically see the whole city from up here. Perfect angle to look for breaking news.”

Kara looked up from her laptop screen and tapped the trackpad a couple of times. Suddenly, piano music played out of the computer’s speakers.

Nia jumped.

“Jeez, what is this?”

“The set piece for the finals, Franz Liszt, Hungarian Rhapsody Number 2. Difficult, but not as technically challenging as say, La Campanella. More like difficult to interpret.”

“You sound like you’ve played it before.”

“Yeah, back in Krypton, before I came here.”

“You’re from Krypton? I knew I heard an accent but I can’t really place it.”

Kara sighed, “Tried to soften it since high school. You know how kids are like.”

“It seems that there’s more to this. Not just a simple case of schoolyard bullying,” Nia probed.

“You’re right, it’s a long story. But first, let’s do something with Hungarian Rhapsody.”

“As long as you promise to tell me, you’re killing yourself, you know.”

“You’re not my therapist.”

\---

**_Eight Years Ago, Metropolis_ **

“So, the European agencies call you Interceptor, huh! Come on! See if you can intercept this!” Jake Howell had her pressed up against a wall. He pulled at her necktie, jerking her forward, exposing her neck.

And WHAM!

He gave her an uppercut, slamming her head backwards hitting the wall. She took off her glasses so that she made direct eye contact with him, and he could stare straight into the menacing, intimidating look she was giving out.

“Is that the best you can do?” she asked him.

Wrong question. The short sentence seemed to add fuel to the already raging fire. And he lifted his arm. The knuckles of his fist hit her cheekbone, sending her slumped on the ground.

Howell huffed, and walked away grinning, rubbing his hands together in delight.

Kara thought the same way. She lifted her hand to her lips, feeling the trickle of blood running down the side of her face where the skin had split open, and the heat from the budding inflammation around her eye socket.

He was dumb enough to have been her pawn. Now, she had enough physical evidence to warrant him detentions, suspensions or even expulsions.

This was gold. She stood up, and off she went to the nurse’s office. Let’s hope that the security cameras were on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in no way or the other condoning physical violence or school and workplace bullying. This is just part of the narrative.  
> I had bouts of writer’s block when planning this chapter, compared to the previous few, this took a lot more thought, hence the long wait. I’m sorry. The next chapter should be out sooner.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The finals are here, and Kara finally gets her cast removed. Phew!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry, there were mocks, as in the A-Level mocks with your predicted grades for uni, so apologies for the late update.

**_Twenty Years Ago, Argo City, Krypton_ **

The little four-year-old girl placed her chubby hands on the black and white keys of the grand piano in the living room, and slowly pressed them. Delighted with the chime they made, and that each key produced a different sound, she continued pressing them.

Moments later, she “discovered” the sequence keys for a song, and a familiar tune erupted.

_ Twinkle, twinkle little star, _

_ How I wonder what you are. _

_ Up above the world so high, _

_ Like a diamond in the sky. _

_ Twinkle, twinkle little star, _

_ How I wonder what you are. _

As she finished, a larger hand joined her on the piano, playing a series of more complex notes that complemented her playing perfectly. She looked past the long, slim yet strong fingers.

A young man, his hair brown and short, his eyes blue and sparkling, his smile kind and bright. Her mother stood beside him, telling her wordlessly that he was safe to be around.

Once they stopped, her mother turned towards her, “This is Kem-Ten, your new piano teacher.”

“Pleased to meet you, Kara Zor-El. You’re a natural.”

\---

**_Present Day_ **

“I know we’re hearing the same thing six times repeatedly, but please try not to fall asleep this time?”

“No promises Kara, no promises.”

The two of them burst out into giggles, and headed towards the elevators.

It had been a week since they were officially paired up, and so far it had been amazing. The two of them worked together seamlessly like the two hands of a concert pianist. They had tackled a couple of breaking news stories from around town, and finally it was the big day.

Kara slid on the sling over her arm, and put on her coat.

“Um, Kara,” Nia pointed at her neck. Kara looked at her with a confused look, and instead Nia reached over and smoothed down her collar, which stuck up when the strap nicked it.

“Oh, thanks. Now let’s go hail a cab.”

\---

They stepped out of the yellow taxi in front of the concert hall. Walking into the lobby, it was once again bustling with people. In fact, it was even more crowded. She wasn’t that surprised. It was the finals, after all.

The doors weren’t open yet, and they stood there awkwardly, waiting for it to happen. When suddenly, she heard someone yell, “Kara? Is that you?”

The aforementioned Kara turned towards the person who called her name, “Miss Luthor! What brings you here?”

“I may run a tech company, but my family has always been a patron of the arts. Hence why L-Corp is sponsoring this event. And, please, call me Lena, you saved my life after all.”

“It’ll take a while, but I’ll try. Old habits die hard,” Kara replied.

Nia stifled a laugh, more than a week in, and Kara still addressed her as Miss Nal, even though she had asked her to call her Kara.

It was then that Lena noticed the cast on Kara, “Want me to sign?”

Nia butted in, “Half the office already did.”

Kara smiled, sticking out her arm, “Nothing profane or dirty please.”

Lena took out a pen from her bag and found a blank spot, beginning to write.

As the words formed, so did the surprised look on Kara’s face. It wasn’t English. It was like looking back at her past. It was Kryptonian, “How did you know?”

“Your surname, El, I thought it sounded familiar. You’re Zor El’s daughter right? The CEO of Fortress Entertainment?”

“Y...yeah. How do you know that?”

“We’ve met briefly. In Metropolis more than a decade ago, I was around twelve then. It was also Liszt, right?”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty seven.”

Kara did the math in her head, twenty seven minus twelve is fifteen. She was twenty four now, so she would have been nine then. She didn’t move to the US until she was fifteen or sixteen, so what was she doing in Metropolis then? She wracked her brain, when suddenly it came to her. The West Atlantic Juniors, one of many times she played Liebestraum. “Oh that time, I’m afraid it was so long ago that I nearly forgot,” she would have facepalmed, but she knew better than to plan another trip to the hospital.

Lena laughed, capping her pen. On the fibreglass, she had written, “Get Well Soon” in Kryptonian above her signature.

Kara’s smile grew, “ _ Nahkluv _ .”

It was then that the bell rang, and an announcement was made that the doors were opening. “It’s free seating, want to go together? It’ll be nice to have a friendly face around.” Lena asked her.

Kara shuffled her feet, “Actually, we’re here working, non just for fun, feature article. If you don’t mind the two of us talking when you’re listening.”

“Well, having my actual life-saver near me makes me feel much safer.”

\---

The three of them sat down in the middle of the auditorium, where the sound would hit them with full force straight from the piano and when reflected from the surrounding walls. 

Suddenly, the lights turned off and a single spotlight was focused on the piano in center stage. From the overhead speakers, a voice said, “Welcome to the finals of the National City International Piano Competition, today we have our six finalists playing Franz Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2.”

\---

Kara shook her head as Li Yixin finished playing. It was mediocre at best. There was nothing special, no “wow” moment, nothing that drew her into the performance. The Sascha Rochev was similar and she silently prayed the next few were not as pathetic.

She got her hopes up high too soon. Dietfried Scheiner even made a few nervous mistakes.

Sighing, she leaned back in her seat and waited for the intermission announcement, now that they had reached halfway.

\---

The lights had turned on and she glanced at Nia who stretched. Lena on the other side of her was looking at the empty stage thoughtfully.

“So, that was,” Nia thought of a word.

“Boring and pathetic?” Kara suggested.

Nia nodded frantically.

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” Lena asked the two of them.

“Kara showed me dozens of versions of this piece. There wasn’t anything special with these three.”

“And at first, I thought they were quite spectacular, knowing that I’m not as good, not being a professional,” Lena pondered.

“But first, um, I think I need to go to the restroom,” whispered Nia.

Kara laughed, “We can’t say no to the call of nature.”

\---

After a brief trip to the ladies, they headed over to the refreshments table, and were subsequently approached by a number of people who had recognized Lena. Some of them were fellow journalists that noticed their press badges and looked at the CatCo duo disdainfully.

“Miss Luthor, what brings you here?”

“L-Corp is sponsoring this event.”

It was then that Kara darted away, seeing J’onn nearby. “Hey!”

When she skidded to a stop in front of him, he eyed her cast, “So, you’ve injured yourself again. What happened?”

“Fell down on the street, nothing big.”

“I have a feeling there’s more to that.”

“Perhaps. Although I’m here to ask you what you think about the first three candidates, and who you think will win.”

“All six finalists were meticulously chosen from the hundreds who signed applied. Until I can listen to the next three people play, I won’t be able to answer your question.”

“Thought so, had to give it a go though. See you later.” She waved her hand and walked back into the concert hall where Nia was waiting for her.

“Why did you ditch me? I had to listen to other people ask Miss Luthor questions that belong on a tabloid.”

“Sorry, had to talk to J’onn.”

At that moment, the lights darkened, and the curtains were drawn back, “It’s about to begin, anyway, where’s Miss Luthor?”

“Said she had work to do, and left early.”

Kara nodded, and turned her head to the performers.

Kousei Arima walked up on stage, and bowed, “It’s that guy,” breathed Nia. He sat down, adjusted his chair and placed his hands to the keyboard. Finally, there was some emotion to Liszt’s work.

His trills were light, his chords heavy, but they did nothing to resemble the rolling rivers or solid mountains. It felt different, much like a love story between to youngsters. The puppy love that overflowed in middle and high schools across the globe. A thought struck Kara, he was playing for the girl, the love he lost all those years ago. He was playing for that girl in his heart, he was playing with that girl in his heart.

The Michael Matthews went up. It was a well-known fact that Liszt was a showman, he was virtuosic and flamboyant. It was also a fact that Liszt’s father forced him to practice with a metronome so the correct tempo was achieved. Mon-El achieved all of that, yet despite Liszt being like that as a performer, she was doubtful that that was what he was feeling when composing Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2.

Lastly, it was what she was looking forward to. Let’s see whether Querl had taken her words to heart.

His opening was solid, his trills light and airy. It had seemed like the mountains, rivers and cities, much like that time he had played at her piano. He had listened to her and practiced it so it didn’t come off as awkward but instead seemed intuitional. It was going well, just don’t screw up and suddenly revert back to his old self.

At that climactic end, she breathed a sigh of relief, it was exactly how she would have played it. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had gone online and found a video of her version, there were plenty of those.

\---

“That last one sounded familiar, it sounds like someone I should know.”

“Yeah, it resembles Kara Zor-El’s version.”

“Is he her secret pupil? I wouldn't be surprised though, there’s been some rumors.”

“Dunno.”

\---

She sat there in the hospital waiting room, staring at the fibreglass on her hand. It would be the last day today, if she was in luck.

A nurse walked up to her, “Kara Zor El, is it?” At Kara’s nod, she continued, “the doctor will see you now.”

And Kara followed her into the consultation room.

The doctor, a young man in scrubs and a white coat, was looking at some X-rays, this time of a hand. She had a hunch it was hers.

“Sit, please, I’ve been reviewing the scans we just performed, your wrist is healing up nicely. And your shoulder should be in tip top condition after some physiotherapy. I’m happy to announce that you can have the cast removed today, but you’ll still need to wear the sling for a while.”

“Okay. When can I start PT?”

“As soon as possible would be best, do you want me to phone down for an appointment today?”

“Sure, I’ve been given the day off.”

And at that moment, the doctor took out the saw, and placed it on her forearm. Turning on the power, the saw cut through her cast, and after that he snipped away the lining using a pair of fabric scissors. 

“All done.”

Kara wiggled her fingers, it felt awkward, much like the body part didn’t belong to her, much like using her prosthetic. 

“It’ll feel much more natural with more physio. You’re booked in for 2pm, by the way.”

“Thank you so much,” she thanked the doctor as she stood up and headed out for her lunch.

\---

Sitting at a desk, the physiotherapist took out a machine with a digital screen, “This measures the amount of force generated from your hand grip, I’ll need you to grip between the two bars.”

Kara wrapped her hand around the hand grip device and squeezed it as hard as she could.

The physiotherapist, “Just as I thought, on the weaker end, but by looking at the veins on your hand, I can tell your grip is usually much stronger than that.”

“Oh, I used to play the piano. Haven’t practiced in ages though,” she replied.

“No wonder, I can see the pianist in you, the long, slim fingers, we’ll work them up so you can play again.”

Kara laughed, “Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m literally missing a hand.”

The physiotherapist’s eyes widened, and instead she changed the subject, “Flexibility is easier to regain than strength, so we’ll work on that first. I’ll demonstrate and you can follow these stretches. Since you don’t have a left hand, a wall or table can substitute.”

Kara’s eyes sparkled, healthcare personnel seemed to not bat an eye at the remains of her wartime injury. They probably saw more than their fair share of similar cases. At the end of the two hour session, she had finished a few stretches for her wrist, and some for her shoulder. She was utterly drained.

Now that her hand was out of the cast, she knew she had to start hitting the gym again, she was definitely out of shape.

Taking out her phone, she noticed the two missed calls from Alex and decided to text her, scheduling the next sister night two days from then.

\---

**_Fifteen Years Ago, Argo City, Krypton_ **

She ran, her long coat flapping behind her, gripping her backpack straps tightly. She glanced behind her, and continued at the same pace, running along the empty boulevard. The sound of rumbling in the background made her pick up her pace. She swerved around the corner just as a bomb dropped a few metres back. The shockwave sent her flying a few feet ahead, tumbling to the ground.

But there was no time to be crying over skinned knees. She picked herself up and continued running.

Just as another bomb dropped a mile or so back, she scrambled over the wire fence and went past the final two blocks. Pushing open the gate, she dashed up the stairs, opening the door into their apartment.

“ _ Jeju _ , I’m home! First place!” She walked into the living room, ready to show her mother her new medal. But she was met with silence.

Looking around, she saw a lot of unfamiliar faces. Men in uniforms not unlike her own. Except, instead, they were wearing red jackets.

Kandorians. Sagitari.

How did they enter her home? Why were they here?

It was then that she noticed her mother and a man on the sofa. The man held a pistol in his hand, and twirled it aimlessly as he questioned her.

A soldier walked up to him, “Colonel, the brat is back.”

Kara huffed, she was no brat, her mother, aunt and teachers often regarded her as polite and disciplined, she was their little soldier.

The colonel placed his gun back in its sheath and walked up to her, kneeling so he matched her height. Using his thumb and forefinger, he brought her face up to his, “Ah yes, perfect, I heard you shout that you got first place, right? May I enquire in what competition?”

Now looking back, she sure was naive, and instead, took shrugged off her bag, taking out the medal, “West Krypton Piano Competition”, it said. 

“So, what did you play today, kid?”

“Chopin! Prelude Number Four!”

“Well, play it for me,” he drawled, as Kara climbed up to the piano and began playing like she did earlier that day. It was a melancholic piece. A piece about death, despair, the utter lack of hope. It was also one of Chopin’s easiest pieces to play, technically, with no trills, large jumps and mostly legato chords. But one of the most difficult to get right emotionally. Hence why the composer himself requested it be played at his funeral.

As she ended on the final E-minor chord, she turned around and looked at her mother, seeing tears in her eyes, overwhelmed at just how suitable the music was at their current situation.

Instead, the colonel stormed over to her and slapped her on the cheek, “You dare play something so depressing?! The army needs to be motivated, not reminded of loss!”

She looked up at him, “You are from Kandor, I am an Argovian,” she blurted out.

It was the wrong thing to say. Her mother gulped and the colonel slapped her again, this time so strongly that she fell off the piano bench and onto the ground.

“You will learn your position, child. So this might be easier asking you than your mother. Has your aunt told you anything about what is happening a few weeks from now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The colonel pointed a gun at Alura as another soldier held her back. “I know you’re hiding something kid, I can just feel it, talk, and I’ll let your mother go.”

Kara glanced at her mother, “Don’t say anything,” she mouthed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really, kid? I’ll ask you one last time did your aunt tell you anything about what is happening a few weeks from now.”

“Sir, I seriously do not know.”

Bang!

The gun was fired.

“No!” Kara yelled. Tears started to cloud her vision. The soldiers turned to discuss something between themselves, and she scrambled over to her mother’s slumped form.

“Kara,” she coughed out, “Don’t trust anyone, only your aunt.” Her father had been out of the picture for years, since he had relocated the business overseas years ago.

“Yes,  _ Jeju _ , I understand, I won’t fail you.”

“I’ll be with you in your dreams, every step of the way.”

“Yes,  _ Jeju _ ,” tears streamed out of her eyes as she held her mother’s hand until it went slack.

Moments later, she felt the Kandorians literally drag her from her kneeling position. “The primus has something to do with her.”

Well, Harry, you’re not alone in seeing the thestrals now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I ended with a reference to the classic series Harry Potter, I’ve always been a fan, it introduced me to thicker, pictureless books that were actually fun to read.
> 
> Translations to English  
> (From Kryptonian) Nahkluv - Thank you  
> (From Kryptonian) Jeju - mother


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A taste of Kryptonian cuisine, an important letter and Trivia Night at the Galaxy Bar.

**_Present Day_ **

“The world’s a mess,” moaned Nia as she watched Kara type up a piece on the recent migrant crisis. The situation had escalated since she had arrived in back in the US, leading to more displaced people. She could only empathise on what was going on there.

“Tell me about it, we already have a boatload of internal conflicts, and there are now more problems knocking at our door. So, what do you think?” Kara put down her hands and pushed the laptop towards her so Nia could read what she wrote.

It was just five hundred words, but each single word carried so much depth, that it contained much more meaning than what was presented on the surface. It was as if the writer had actually experienced what she had written. It was felt more personal, so Nia had to speak up, “So, you’ve actually been through conflict.”

“They did station me in the Middle East for six months as a war correspondent a while back. In fact, I think it would benefit your career a lot if you were sent there,” Kara replied, although Nia’s intuition told her that it was the truth, but not the whole truth. The blonde’s posture and gait screamed something else entirely.

“Don’t think my parents would allow that, they’re extremely protective.”

“Only child?”

“No, I have an older sister, Maeve.”

“Oh, so they’re babying you because you’re the youngest. I know exactly what you mean. Everyone does the same thing to me, especially my cousin Kal,” she laughed.

“Kal? Who is she?”

“Kal’s my older cousin,  _ he _ lives in Metropolis, in fact I have photos,” Kara took out her phone, and tapped open her gallery, “This was last Nova Cycle, at my father’s place in Metropolis.” It seemed that height ran in the family as the man was a couple of inches taller than Kara, who was even taller than Nia, although his muscular frame stood in stark contrast to her slim figure. He had a mop of messy dark hair on his sharp, angular face, thick, black glasses framed his bright blue eyes that were identical to his cousin’s. A hand was nudging her cheek playfully in what was most definitely a selfie. 

“What’s Nova Cycle?”

“So, have you heard of a country called Krypton?” at Nia’s shake of her head, she elaborated a little, “It’s my homeland, and is situated in Europe, in the Baltics. Although we celebrate most other western festivals, we have a few special ones of our own. Including the Nova Cycle, or Kryptonian New Year, as it’s often translated into. It’s on the day after the winter solstice.”

“To celebrate a new beginning,” Nia guessed.

“Exactly, you’re a smart cookie, no wonder you graduated magna cum laude from Georgetown,” Kara mused.

“Now, we’ve gone off on a tangent, where were we just now?”

“My article, the one about the migrants, Do you think that I should add anything to it, or can I send it to Ms Grant now?”

“I think it’s amazing, add anything and it would seem less personal, less sincere. It feels more like the truth like this, unembellished,” Nia described.

“If you say so,” and then she opened up her email, and attached the document for her supervisor, “So, lunch break? It’s already half-past twelve.”

“Think you can introduce me to Kryptonian food then?”

“Sure, I know a decent place not far from here.”

\---

In fluent Kryptonian, Kara addressed the waiter, “ _ Sokao, osh tav shehd _ .”

“ _ Tim khuhp _ ,” he replied, leading them to a place to the side, near the kitchen, further away from the upcoming swarm of office people. The two of them sat down, and were handed them menus, and then left.

“So, what do you recommend?”

“Knorvish is always a favourite, at least back in Krypton, so I don’t think we can go wrong with that. And we can add some noodles so we can enjoy the sauce properly. Okay?”

Nia nodded excitedly, eating foreign food with an actual native was always an experience, much like her high school friend letting her try her Italian family’s traditional Bolognese recipe.

Kara waved the waiter over and relayed the information over to him, then he asked, “Okay, you two want any drinks to go with the meal?”

“Just water would be fine, it’s just our lunch break,” Kara intercepted whatever Nia wanted to say, and the waiter hurried off to the kitchen.

“Why just water? Thought that there would be some exotic drink you wanted me to try,” Nia commented.

“That was way I did it as a kid, thought I’d give you the full treatment. Anyway, a few friends and I are heading over to the Galaxy Bar for trivia night after work today, want to join? There are going to be a few others from CatCo that you may recognize.”

“Like…”

“Winn from IT, Lucy from legal, the new art director James, who’s Lucy’s boyfriend, and their plus ones if they desire to bring any. Are you even old enough to drink?”

“Yeah, just a few months ago.”

“Good, let’s just say things can get quite messy.”

It was then that the waiter came back with two steaming dishes. “Enjoy.”

“ _ Nahkluv _ ,” Kara replied with a nod of her head.

“Here, try some,” Kara spooned some Knorvish onto Nia’s plate before doing the same for herself.

She ate as she stared at Nia to see how she would react to the foreign cuisine, and was met with furrowed brows and confusion, which slowly morphed into wide eyes and amazement. “This feels so… so… what’s that word?”

“Different? Delectable?”

“Yeah, it tastes amazing, the sauce is so rich, like the vegetables are actually blended into it. And the meat is tender yet still chewy? Why is Kryptonian food not as popular as other stuff like Italian or Chinese?”

“Don’t ask me, maybe it’s because we don’t tend to advertise it a lot,” she commented, and turning back to her food, she continued, “Now mix it with the noodles. Trust me with this.”

And Nia did just that, it was a decision that wiped the nervousness and replaced it with glee. 

\---

They returned after lunch and were met with a loud, startling “Keira” the moment they exited the elevator.

“Yes, Ms Grant?” she followed the voice to her mentor’s office, and found two familiar CEOs sitting across from each other on the sofas, what looked like whisky poured out.

“Scotch?” asked the older blonde at her mentee.

“Sorry, Ms Grant, you know I don’t drink when I’m on the job, maybe after six,” Kara rejected.

“Too bad, I’m sure you’ll understand Lena Luthor,” she gestured towards her guest.

“And we meet again, Kara El,” her green eyes glinted as she picked up the glass and took a sip, “This twenty year Highland Park is exquisite, too bad you won’t drink at this hour.”

“Persuading me won’t work. I’ve been told I have an iron will.”

“Anyway, Kara, here's a little something, a piece of gratitude for saving my life,” Lena said as she handed an envelope over to Kara, “Now, open it.”

Giving the envelope a good glare, she asked, “Ms Grant, do you have a cutter?”

“You want me to open it for you?” suddenly realizing that it wouldn’t be easy doing it one handed.

“It’s fine.”

“The knife’s on my desk.”

The younger woman placed the letter on the coffee table and walked over to get the letter opener. Then heading back, she picked up the envelope and in one clean, swift sweep she cut the opening fold. She took out the piece of paper inside and unfolded it.

It wasn’t a business letter folded up in thirds, it was a piece of cardstock, heavier and thicker than regular A4, scratch that, letter size. She read the neatly printed text, and then looked up at Lena, “You’re inviting me to a charity gala, for the Luthor Family Children’s Hospital. Why me, not Ms Grant? If you want people to shell out money, she’s a better fit.”

Ms Grant laughed, “I’ll be there.”

“And it’ll be nice to have someone that's not downright hostile towards me there,” replied Lena. 

She hesitated for a moment, but then spoke, “I won't give promises, you can’t stop me from chasing a good story, but so far, it’s an RSVP yes.”

Cat Grant sighed at what her mentee said, “Keira, this is not how you do business. The other reporters, while not as good as you, can handle it. CatCo won’t fall apart in just one night. You are going to be dolled up nicely to accompany me to this event.”

“Cat, if only I also had such responsible employees, you should be proud of her. Anyway, see you soon.”

The brunette stood up, put on her coat and headed out the fishbowl office.

Kara blinked at her mentor and boss. “What was that?”

“That, Keira, is your future. One that isn’t a CatCo gala where all the employees are invited, but actually being a valued guest.”

Kara stood there, mouth agape, “Me, a valued guest, you’re kidding right? I’m nobody special.”

“Your humility is admirable, but you need more confidence. Now, chop chop, back to work!”

“Yes, Ms Grant,” Kara replied, curtly as she headed off. She had an article to go edit.

\---

“She’s finally here,” remarked Alex as she saw her younger sister head over towards her, “and it looks like straight from work,” noticing her button up, tailored trousers and large bag that could fit a laptop.

“Nia, Superfriends,” she gestured to everyone, “Superfriends, my assistant. She’s new to town so play nice.”

It was then that the others noticed the younger girl standing behind her, “Hey, welcome to the gang,” said Alex as she stood up and extended a hand towards her.

“Superfriends?” Nia asked as she shook the hand.

Alex laughed, “Blame Winn,” she pointed at the man with the teased-up dark brown hair, who gave an awkward wave, “I’m Alex, by the way, this dork’s older sister.” She tried to pinch Kara’s cheek, but ended up getting her hand swatted away.

“Cut it out,” she muttered, “we weren’t like this as children, we shouldn’t act like this now.”

“Well, I hated you when we first met, so there was that.”

“Hated would be an understatement. You didn’t talk to me at school, and if you did address me, it was to tease me. Thank goodness for Kenny Li.”

As the sisters argued, Nia turned to Winn, who was sitting beside her, “Are they always like this?”

“Yeah, pretty much, It’s hard to believe that those two don’t share any genetics other than the 99% common to all homo sapiens.”

“Who’s adopted?” asked Nia.

“Neither, Kara’s dad married Alex’s mom, I don’t know the specifics though.”

It was then that two other people arrived, “James, Lucy! You’re finally here!” cried Winn as he jumped up from his seat to hug his friends.

They took a seat at their table, and Kara spoke, “I know some of you are scared. Some of you have never done this before. And some of you are ready to get out there and prove yourselves. But remember, that we do this for the snacks!”

“You’ve been reading too much poetry these days, sis.”

“Well, sophistication is in great demand these days.”

Before Alex could give a convincing rebuttal, a waiter brought over a round of drinks and some food. Including...

“Oh my god, is this Korean style fried chicken?”

“Yes, the chef here hails straight from Seoul,” answered Winn. 

“Word of warning, the ones coated in red are super spicy. It’s literally soaked in chili,” reminded Alex.

“You just can’t bear the heat,” muttered Kara as she picked up a wing and began to eat it happily.

It was then that a booming voice was heard from the speakers, “Welcome to the monthly Trivia Night, here at the Galaxy Bar, I am your host, Matt Winterspell. Questions come in three predetermined categories for the initial round, general knowledge, pop culture, and sport, the second round is on a category that I’m going to pick out of a hat.”

And he did exactly that, “Classical music,” he read off the slip of paper.

Alex was grinning at Kara, who gave a sigh of exasperation and slumped down in her seat.

“Help me, Kara Zor-El. You’re my only hope,” the blonde joked sarcastically at her sister.

This was going to be epic.

\---

And it was.

It started out with a translate-this-sentence-into-English” question. Kara stared at the projector screen, and thought. It did not seem like Kryptonian, Russian, German or French. Then she noticed the squiggle above the “n”, Spanish, she didn’t know a lick of Spanish beyond Mexican food names. And it seemed that none of the Superfriends knew as well. In the end, another team got that question, since Google Translate was a joke most of the time. 

The next thing was some sort of math riddle, regarding seven bridges or whatnot. She vaguely remembered it as it famously referred to the seven bridges of Argo City, her hometown, but she had never really paid attention during math class, preferring music and languages.

“The seven bridges of Argo, the largest city in Krypton, and how to cross all of them without repeating, were what formed the basis for modern day graph theory, thanks to Swiss mathematician Leonhard Euler,” explained Winn, as he scribbled onto the mini-whiteboard, “it is impossible to go through all seven without crossing one twice.”

They were awarded ten points for that.

“Did you know that?” Nia asked her.

“About it. I hate math, scored well enough to pass, that was it,” she crossed her arms and grumbled. Nobody could blame her for that. Math was something you either loved, or hated, no grey area, much like Marmite.

Nia laughed.

“Who won the Superbowl back in 2002?”

James knew that one, “New England Patriots.”

“According to canon, how long did it take for the Millennium Falcon to complete the Kessel Run?”

It took a while to come to her mind, but before she could pick up a pen, another team had beat them to it, “Less than twelve parsecs.”

“Who sang See You Again with Wiz Khalifa?”

“Charlie Puth.”

“Who is the strongest Avenger?”

“Are you talking comics or MCU, if the latter, it’s Thor.”

“Finish the lyrics, what comes after ‘I know that I can’t take no more’?”

“‘It ain’t no lie.’ from *NSYNC’s Bye Bye Bye.”

It went on like that for at least the next hour, with different teams racing to yell out the answers before the others. It was tense.

Intense would have been a better word.

By the end of the first round, the Superfriends were in the lead with only ten points ahead of the next best team.

“So what happens if we win?” Nia asked everyone else.

“Free food and drinks for the entire night for the whole team,” James told her.

“Awesome!”

“I’m gonna get a scotch, anyone else want more drinks?” Alex asked everyone as hands shot up, “Okay then,” she sighed, “What do you guys want?”

“Also scotch.”

“Beer.”

“Club soda please.”

“Kara, you not drinking again? It’s the weekend.”

The blonde paused. “You a lightweight?” James asked.

Alex and Winn scoffed, Kara usually didn’t drink, but she could hold her alcohol. In fact too many people had made the mistake of drinking against her. “Actually I change my mind, give me a vodka.”

James paled, as Lucy and Nia gaped.

“Coming right up,” as Alex headed over to tell the bartender their orders.

The drinks arrived quickly, and she took a slow sip of her vodka. Normally, she didn’t enjoy drinking, they impaired her mind by making her less attentive, less able to communicate. She considered it a blessing that she was given the genetics to withstand the two chained hydrocarbon with the hydroxyl end better than many others. But with friends and family, she was fine with it.

She sighed at the nostalgic burn down her oesophagus. At whatever party she attended, her aunt would always sneak her a glass of whatever she had. Whether it was champagne, beer or vodka, it was mostly vodka though.

“I’ll say this as a warning, because you do not want to end up like the bunch of frat boys who challenged me back in college. I can drink you under the table when I want to,” she said after she had emptied the glass and slammed it hard on the table.

James gulped, as Alex made a “tut tut tut” sound, giving him a look that said I-told-you-so.

At that moment, the organizers decided to resume the event. “Hello everyone, and coming up we have round two of Trivia Night, with tonight’s special theme, classical music! Looking at these questions, I’m going to butcher the names so badly, thank goodness for the powerpoint! Now let us begin! First, what meteorological phenomenon is featured in the Summer movement of Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons?”

Kara wrote furiously on the whiteboard, “A storm”.

“Superfriends you are right! Ten points.”

After the other teams had answered, and were awarded their corresponding points, Winterspell continued, “Beethoven’s ninth symphony was the first to combine orchestral music with what medium?”

“A choir”, Kara wrote, and then gave a pointed look at her teammates’ blank looks, “Have none of you ever heard of Ode to Joy?”

“Oh that one…” Winn mused.

“Right…” muttered Lucy.

Alex rolled her eyes, she had been exposed to the music world since Eliza had started meeting Zor. Even more especially to the world of classical music when Kara had arrived. The younger girl never really requested control of the radio, but whenever she was offered the opportunity, would always switch to a classical music channel.

“What is Beethoven’s Symphony No. 3, also titled Eroica, a tribute to?”

“Napoleon,” she answered as she stared at her teammates, “do any of you know anything?”

“You’re the one who studied music in college,” Nia replied, “none of us did.”

Kara sighed as the next question was revealed, “In the 1812 Overture, which country’s national anthem that is still used today, is featured?”

“France,” surprisingly it wasn’t from the Superfriends.

Kara’s lips quirked up, at least someone watched enough European football, or Olympic Games to know what La Marseillaise sounded like.

“How many ballades did Frédéric Chopin write?”

Kara had played all of them before, “Four,” she said out loud.

Immediately, Nia took the board and scribbled out what Kara said, who had seemingly fallen into a trance and was staring aimlessly ahead drumming her fingers on the table.

Winn snapped his fingers in front of her eyes and she jerked, “I was doing it again?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, got carried away when he mentioned the Ballades, I love Chopin, but my piano teacher preferred Liszt, so I had to play his work instead.”

“So that’s why you knew Hungarian Rhapsody, I knew Querl Dox’s version sounded familiar. Just like a recording of yours on YouTube.” Kara gulped down another mouthful of vodka at Nia’s statement.

Thank goodness the next question came out at that exact moment, “Name a piece of music that served as inspiration for the Star Wars soundtrack.”

“The Planets,” uttered Kara.

“You can’t be serious, this seems like a stupid joke.”

“No, The Planets was an orchestral suite written by British composer Gustav Hoslt. The Throne Room from Star Wars draws inspiration from the third movement, Mars. Despite being about the planets of our solar system, it is more about the Roman gods that they were named after. The melody of the English hymn I Vow to Thee My Country is an excerpt from the fourth movement, Jupiter.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I’ve always liked the suite, so I chose it as my topic for an essay back during either high school or college. I forgot when.”

Alex groaned, “High school, definitely high school, I was there and you played it all the time for a month. You kept pausing it every few minutes, and repeating excerpts. It was infuriating.”

“Well, I was doing research, not playing music for fun.”

The sisters’ verbal sparring was cut short as the final question was said, “Last but not least, here I will play a recording,” he gestured to the large speaker on stage, “If you know what it’s called shout out its name and composer.”

He plugged it in, and a loud beep was heard, much like the high frequency sound when a microphone is plugged in. Many people in the room winced. “Yeesh, that was horrible, we’ll fix it up in just a moment.”

A few minutes later, he spoke again, “Everything seems to be OK, we’ll be playing the music now. Here goes…”

It started out with a buh bum bum, buh bum bum, three beats to a bar, a waltz most probably. Then included a solo saxophone to the beat, playing a sad, slow tune, going up and down, then up again, much like a wave. Then a few flutes joined in with a jump-step sequence. It was then that the orchestra made its full appearance, repeating the swaying melody. It had a distinctive Russian feel to it, with a certain militaristic flair. She could imagine a room full of soldiers in their formal dress uniform, and gentlemen in tuxedos, paired up with ladies in colourful gowns, twirling and swirling. It was much like those times the Primus threw his Nova Cycle balls and would request this particular piece. She wracked her brain for the name and composer. It was one of those pieces that you know the melody but not the title. When it suddenly came to her.

“Дмитрий Шостакович, Джазовая сюита, Вальс номер два,” she called out.

The host looked at her, “I didn’t catch it, say it again?”

“Dimitri Shostakovich, Jazz Suite, Waltz Number Two,” she repeated, realizing she had spoken Russian the previous time.

“That would be correct! Now tallying up scores, the winner goes to the Superfriends! Congrats! You guys get whatever you have here tonight for free!”

Winn then decided to order another round of drinks to celebrate their victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Galaxy Bar is what I named the Alien Bar. Yes, after the chocolate bar. And if you want an easter egg, they used Shostakovich’s Second Waltz in the scene where Lex mailed Red Daughter her first book in 4x16.
> 
> Translations to English
> 
> (From Kryptonian) Sokao, osh tav shehd - Table for two, please
> 
> (From Kryptonian) Tim khuhp - Follow me
> 
> (From Kryptonian) Nahkluv - Thank you


End file.
